The One Adventure I Can Never Have
by mpg
Summary: Reunited with Rose at Bad Wolf Bay he said, "Here you are, living your life day after day. The one adventure I can never have." He never counted on ending up as a half-human metacrisis though. Post Journey's End AU 10.5xRose
1. Chapter 1: New

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~ Chapter 1: New ~

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_A/N:- I don't own anything Doctor Who related, although I wish I owned David Tennant._

_Thank you to CertainShadesOfBlue for helping me whip this baby into shape. She beta'd, but I meddled, so any mistakes remain on me._

_Here is a little picture I messed around with trying to create a banner-ish thing yfrog(dot)com/klvv7pflj_

_Also, to all my loyal Twi readers, the Twi will be continuing, just had this Who fic rolling around in my head too. _

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The Doctor was slowly adjusting to his new body.

His new, _new_ body.

It should have been a sensation he was used to; after all, he had experienced regeneration before. This time was different though. This time he wasn't entirely time lord. His single heart had to work twice as hard to pump the same volume of blood which had previously been moved by two.

He had been human before too, of course. He'd used the Chameleon Arch to rewrite every cell of his time lord body into a human physiology. That was different, though. At least then he hadn't remembered that he wasn't _supposed_ to be human.

This time…

Well, this time was highly unusual. _Everything_ about his body was different, not just his physical appearance and personality—which were remarkably two things that had come through the transition unscathed, or at least almost unscathed. The changes he was just now discovering went far beyond, deeper than those superficial things, and it all just felt wrong.

His hearing was muted, his eyesight dimmed, and his skin somehow felt warm and cold all at once. Before, his body would self-regulate its temperate. He'd never felt particularly warm or particularly cold. Even in the depths of the volcano in Pompeii, he'd kept his cool—pun absolutely intended. He hadn't even felt the need to remove his jacket. Since he regenerated—or generated for the first time, as it were—he'd _felt_ the temperature.

During his time on the Dalek ship, he had actually _sweated_. His old body, the one with two beating heats and the capacity to adapt uniquely to almost any given situation, had never needed to do anything as primitive as sweat. He wasn't sure that he liked the idea or the feeling of dampness that accompanied this body's method of shedding heat.

Then, just hours after sweating for the first time, he'd been standing beside Rose at Dålig Ulv Stranden. There, he'd felt the bitter sting of the cold. The winds which whipped up the sand after the TARDIS had dematerialised felt like they tore straight through the thin fabric of his blue suit. The sheen of sweat which had coated his skin earlier, necessary to keep him cool, now chilled him to the bone.

The other thing about his new body—the thing that disturbed him above all other things—was something which he'd always possessed but which had never made its presence more felt than during the moment he'd kissed Rose.

_He'd KISSED Rose. _

The newly discovered part of his body re-awoke at even the hint of the memory of those few blissful seconds wrapped in her arms. That perfect moment when she'd pressed her lips to his after he whispered three simple words. Words that he knew—he _knew—_she wanted to hear; words he'd felt for a long time, even though his time lord mind rebelled against the emotion.

The Doctor felt the stirring again as he sat thinking about those precious moments. The hope and joy and, yes, love, that had burst from within his single heart during the seconds of connection had almost been overwhelming for his new body. It was a perfect moment that he had stolen. Stolen from Rose by the utterance of three tiny words, but also stolen from _him_—the other him, the one who was most likely right now returning Donna Noble home broken and defeated after her blazing moment of glory as the Doctor Donna.

His skin still tingled, and his heart still pounded, thinking about how perfectly his lips had fit with Rose's. His body reacted differently to _that _kiss than it had any other time his lips had touched Rose's. His mind kept returning to the reaction of the one part of his body which had always been his but which he felt he'd lost all control over. He didn't know that it did _that_. He hadn't expected the rush of blood away from his brain and into _there_. The words of Lady Cassandra came flooding back to him.

_Goodness me, I'm a man. Yum. So many parts. And hardly used._

He snorted. Hardly used was right. He had a family once, long ago back on Gallifrey, but time lord reproduction was a little different than human reproduction. And that had been so long ago it was another life. Literally.

For almost as long as he could remember, his extra appendage had just hung there limp and lifeless. It had been nothing, just something to remember in the seconds it took to zip up his pants. Even during the times when he'd been travelling with Rose, and her skin had brushed against his in innocent, and sometimes not so innocent, ways nothing had stirred below. Instead, her soft caresses had set fire to his synapses. They had made whole futures erupt and form in the ever-changing landscape of his mind. He saw _her _in there, the threads of her life entwined around his own, pulsing with the pleasure that he made her feel. It was different, and he believed more, than he could imagine human coupling to be.

Now though… Now the kiss from Rose had sent his heart beating rapidly, and his body seemed content to force blood to the one appendage which needed it the least. Or at least, which he'd once _thought _needed it the least. Even he had to admit that the feeling of pressure as the blood rushed to that one spot, engorging it beyond his wildest imaginings, wasn't entirely un-pleasurable. It was strange, he thought, because that much blood filling any other extremity—forcing it to grow so sizably and become so stiff—would almost certainly have been painful.

_So why did it feel so good down there?_

His mind kept returning to that glorious moment of intimacy with Rose. He'd told her how he felt, and she showed him in return. His body reacted as if all of that emotion had been his to take. He loved her, absolutely and completely. He knew that, even now.

How she felt about him was a complete mystery. She had initiated the kiss, and he had selfishly taken and enjoyed every microsecond she offered him, but he knew she wasn't really kissing him. She was kissing _him _- the other _him_. The one she'd spent so long becoming acquainted with. The one she had promised to be with forever, so many years ago under a pink sky. It hadn't really been him she was kissing.

He was grown from the one she had looked at strangely and asked to change back. He was part of the one that had changed in front of Rose and made her cry. He wasn't even there when _he_ burnt up a sun to say goodbye—so he could hardly take credit for that. He had the other _him_'s memories, the residual energy funnelled off after the Dalek strike had seen to that, but he wasn't _him_. The last thing any part of _him_ had done for Rose was to save her from the Sycorax; and that had only been his right hand.

He thought back over the last twenty-four hours. A single Earth day, but it had changed everything for him. Technically, he had started the day as nothing more than a hand in a jar, and now he was…

He wasn't exactly sure _what _he was. He was human, but more. He was time-lord, but less. He was both, and he was neither.

He didn't know where he stood with Rose either. He was a stranger, but more. He was a friend, but less. They'd shared a moment on the beach, and he had sworn his life into her care, if she was willing to accept it. She had kissed him, but what had he had since then?

_Silence. _

_Loneliness. _

He wasn't sure whether he should approach Rose, or wait for her to come to her own decision about where they stood. She had a way of being quietly thoughtful, her observational skills second to none. He was certain the more time they spent together, the more she would note the similarities between him and _him, _but he also feared she would also notice the differences. He hated to admit there were differences, but he could feel the biggest one beating in his chest with a study thud-thud. He missed the second thud-thud more than he cared to admit.

Then there was the small part of him that made him feel like he was completely inadequate. He would have assumed that it was just his new, human brain, but he knew it wasn't. Deep down in the recesses of his mind—where he was still wholly time-lord—he recognised the voice of Donna's insecurity. His personality would be forever shaped by both _him_ and Donna. They had equally shared their DNA to create him. He guessed that technically made them his parents.

He snorted again at the thought that he was technically his own father.

_Someone put me on Jerry Springer_, he thought. Then he shuddered at the fact that he knew what Jerry Springer was. Donna's influence on him was almost as substantial as _his_; substantial, but much less remarkable. While _his _memories contained the language, species and subspecies of the inhabitants of a range of different universes, Donna's contained intimate details of celebrity lives, garnered almost exclusively from gossip magazines.

There was a quiet knock on his door, and he knew it was Rose. It wasn't because of some miraculous connection, or even because he could hear her quiet breathing. No, it was altogether more unremarkable than that. The simple reason was that she was the only one in the world who knew where he was. Well, besides Jackie, but he could hardly think of a reason she would seek him out.

He grunted his assent to Rose, allowing her access to what he supposed was to become his inner-sanctum, but was in actuality her spare bedroom.

Rose opened the door, but didn't enter. She stood awkwardly in the doorway, just another sign that she wasn't yet ready to be familiar with him, even though he was ready to be everything for her.

"Pete wants us to go in tomorrow for a debriefing."

It really wasn't the Doctor's fault that Rose's mouth forming the word debrief was so alluring, and he certainly couldn't be held responsible for the images that ran through his mind in response. He knew that he was focusing on an entirely different meaning of brief, but that didn't seem to matter to his new, human mind or the aforementioned appendage which seemed to inflate and deflate with no small amount of zeal. It was worth noting, to the Doctor at least, that each time it inflated, it was a little more painful and the subsequent deflation that much more depressing.

He crossed his legs, ignoring the pain that shot up from his crotch in response, just so that Rose wouldn't see the evidence of the blood pooling in the organ between his thighs. He noticed, not without regret, that her eyes were averted from his nether regions anyway.

He nodded to let her know that he'd heard. The questions which might once have burnt through him were now rendered meaningless. The when, where and how no longer mattered because he wasn't in control anymore. He was no longer a master time and space; he couldn't even direct the current of his own life. How he acted impacted on Rose, and therefore he would act however she needed him to.

It was a strange feeling, being so completely powerless and one he was entirely unaccustomed to. Even when the master had him at his complete mercy, aged, useless and locked away in a cage, he hadn't felt so helpless. After all, he had still been_ the_ Doctor. He had still been a time-lord.

The Doctor and the TARDIS, together they were undefeatable.

But he wasn't _that _Doctor anymore; now, he was just one of the humans _he_ left behind.

Once again, possibly even as a result of thinking about how utterly useless he now was, his body pumped the blood slowly away from the one appendage he'd never used and back to his more vital organs.

Rose met his eye and gave him a small, sad smile. He'd seen it before; it was the one she used to mollify her mother whenever she went home to visit.

"We'll get through this, yeah?" she said.

The Doctor assumed it was supposed to be a statement, but it came out as a question. He knew it was because she wasn't sure whether she _wanted_ to get through it. He wanted to respond, "If you want us to," but even he knew that would be unnecessarily cruel. The last thing he wanted to do was to be cruel.

Instead, he nodded silently again.

Rose sunk her teeth into her lip. "Doct—"

She had almost said his name, but he knew that she wouldn't. He wasn't the Doctor. Not in her eyes.

Not anymore.

_Can you change back? _

_Do you want me to? _

_Yeah. _

His heart ached with the memory. He would have thought only having one heart would have halved the pain of loss, but it didn't. It was worse because there was the same amount of pain, but only one heart to handle it.

"I'll see you in the morning," she murmured, before pulling the door shut quietly behind her.

He noted that she seemed to be moving around as quietly as she could. In fact, she had been exceedingly quiet for all of the past twelve hours - throughout the zeppelin ride from Bad Wolf Bay, while she showed him to her spare room and hastily set up the fold-out couch into a bed. She had handed him a pair of pyjamas, and he hadn't wanted to question whose they were. He couldn't help but remember that she had also supplied pyjamas the last time he'd changed. Only then, it had been from time lord to time lord. Despite that regeneration going wrong, it was still a more pleasant adjustment than the one he was presently facing.

From the very moment he'd walked into her apartment, it had been obvious to the Doctor that she had never intended to stay for a long time. The furniture was more than sparse, it was barely there. An overturned milk crate supported the tiny TV. The dining table was a fold-up card table with a few camping chairs. Covering every surface were books and research notes about multiverse theory and alternate dimensions. It was abundantly clear that she was here only until she could find him or, more specifically, _him. _

What wasn't clear was what would happen next. Would she be happy with him and not _him_?Or would she continue to search for a way that she could cross the walls of reality and once again call a little blue box home? The Doctor didn't know, and the thought scared him almost witless. He knew that even if Rose found a way to cross into the other reality, he could never follow her. The dangers of two Doctors in the one reality were just too obvious for him. He couldn't risk space and time that way.

He thought briefly about what it might mean for him if Rose did find a way to leave. He knew that if she did, _he_ would likely welcome her back with open arms. _He_ would continue to find pleasure in the way her timeline merged with _his_ own. But what of him, left behind? How would he survive in a world where he had to live day to day—the one adventure he never thought he would have? He grew angry just thinking about it. The way the emotion manifested was new to him and disconcerting in its own way.

He'd be angry before, of course, and the anger of a time lord was a sight to behold. He hadn't been called the Oncoming Storm without reason, but never before had his person been so affected by his anger. He could feel his blood pressure palpably rising and was surprised to realise he had a vein that ran through his forehead which pulsed in time with his heart as his anger simmered away. He wasn't even sure _who_ he was angry at. The world seemed an easy and ready target.

Knowing that Rose had been in and said all she was going to say, he resigned himself to trying to get some sleep. It would be strange actually sleeping to recharge, rather than just allowing the different sections of his brain to relax. He guessed it was just another in a long list of things he would have to get used to. It was easy to panic and think the list was over long, but again he knew that was the influence of Donna's way of thinking.

He wondered whether it would have been easier if Rose had been the one to touch his energised canister, if Rose made up the other part of his genetic make-up. Would he be solely fearless then? Would he feel more ready and eager to take on the world? Rose's no-nonsense attitude and quiet confidence would have been a more ready partner to his time lord side than Donna's insecurities, but then, another part of his brain reasoned, it would be Rose who was the equivalent of his mother. The thoughts he'd been having about Rose were definitely not appropriate for a mother figure.

Remembering his earlier thoughts, those of Rose and her lips, sent the yo-yoing part of his body on an upward swing again. He couldn't help but think how curious it was that the seemingly weak organ had enough strength when it was engorged with blood to lift the heavy blanket covering his body. The mound which formed around his member was, in the Doctor's humble opinion, quite impressive.

The organ pulsed, aching for something which the Doctor didn't understand. He knew about human anatomy, but theory and application were two different things. He stretched his hand down, seeking only to adjust the angle and position of the protrusion. He couldn't help but note the fact that although it seemed to have a mind of its own, he had no way of consciously control it, at least, not beyond making it twitch.

He pushed his fingers underneath the waistband of his pyjama pants. The moment his fingers touched the swollen skin, a jolt ran through his body. It wasn't entirely unpleasant.

He hissed at the sensation, it was so unlike anything he had ever physically experienced before. Unconsciously, his fingers wrapped around his length, drawing yet another hiss from his body.

_What am I doing? _He wondered to himself.

His newly formed fist squeezed tightly around his length and a sound his body had never before produced exploded out of him. Slowly at first, his hand began to stroke the full length of his body.

A knock on his door caused him to pause mid-stroke.

"Huh?" He forced the sound out through his clenched teeth so it came out with an unnecessary n, or three.

"Are you 'right?" Rose's voice held a definite streak of concern.

He forced his body to respond to his commands, and his teeth unclenched slightly.

"Yes, everything's fine," he murmured at a volume just loud enough for her to her.

He worried that if he spoke any louder, she would somehow be able to detect the fact that his hand was clutching the most intimate area of his body.

"Okay…"

He could tell she was standing just behind the door, unwilling to enter, but also concerned for his welfare. The knowledge that she was so close—the object of his illicit desire—made his hand pump involuntarily and he had to clamp his jaw shut again to stop himself from crying out.

He heard the quiet sound of her hand pressing against the door, no doubt still vacillating between investigation and retreat. A silent moment later, he heard her small sigh.

"If you're sure everythin's okay…"

"Yep. Fine. Fantastic." The words tumbled out of the Doctor's mouth as his hand slid back down his shaft. His hips bucked up as his fingers tightened, and he only _just_ resisted the urge the moan or cry out.

He heard Rose's footsteps retreating in the direction of her bedroom. He only _just_ noticed the sound though, because he was far beyond rational thought. His hand and hips moved completely of their own accord. He momentarily pondered the value of a central nervous system if his body was just going to control itself anyway, before being swept away by another not-so-unpleasant wave of sensation.

His lip became a place in which to bury his teeth as his body tensed so tightly that he began to wonder whether he was going to have a heart attack. His back arched off his bed, and he wished he had the foresight to push off his pyjama bottoms and the heavy blanket which were all contributing to the restriction of space in which he could move his hand.

He wondered what Rose would have thought if she'd walked into the room and what would have passed through her mind if she'd seen his furiously pumping hand. Just the thought of her name sent him spiralling closer to an edge he hadn't even known existed just moments earlier. Visions of her smile and of times they would joke and laugh together began to swim in his mind, and he screwed his eyes shut as his body continued on autopilot. Having her there with him—right there as he teetered on the edge of oblivion—was enough to finish him off.

He felt as if his body had exploded and for one ridiculous millisecond, he wondered whether the organ in question had been flooded with just a little too much blood. But then an overwhelming sensation swept through his body.

Tiny stars stole his sight, and for another tiny moment, he wondered whether the heart attack had occurred after all. His heart did feel like it had stopped, before beginning to race at a million beats a minute. His breathing was laboured, and he wondered how and why. The pace his hand and body had set had been furious, but even such rapid movements shouldn't have left him so wasted after such a short period of time. He was fit—or at least, he had been when he was _him_—so why did his whole body feel like it was drowning under a sea of ecstasy and exhaustion_. _

The ringing in his ears and the pounding of his single heart made him wonder curiously if there was something wrong with him, but he knew there couldn't be, not with the utter bliss that radiated through his entire body.

As his body returned slowly to its usual setting, a wide grin stretched across his face. His hand was still wrapped delicately around his now completely deflated member, and a sticky mess coated everything inside his pyjama pants, but none of that could stop the utter delirium seeping through his body.

"Fantastic," he uttered as he opened his eyes slowly and stared at the ceiling.

His whole body seemed to sink into the mattress, and for a few more blissful moments, he didn't care about anything but enjoying what he thought was the best moment of his life. It was certainly the best of the half-human life he had commenced twenty-four hours earlier.

He wondered how long it would be before he could wipe the silly grin off his face. Then he wondered exactly how long he would have to wait before he could try _that_ again because he was positive he _would_ try it again.

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**A/N:- *Waves* Hi peeps :D yes, its a post-journey's end AH Doctor Who fic. I'm secretly hoping to find out who are the Who fans from my twi peeps ;) Just kidding. In fact, I just had this idea bouncing around in my head & it screamed to get out. This will be multi-chap, not sure how long but it will primarily continue in this vein of silliness. If you want to read a brilliant, angst-filled fantastic post journey's end fanfic go check out Behind Closed Doors by Zephyrhawk. It's in my fav list & is one of very very few fanfics I have read more than once. It's just...gah words can't explain! **


	2. Chapter 2: Ginger

~ Chapter 2: Ginger~

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_A/N:- I don't own anything Doctor Who related. I wish I owned David Tennant._

_Thank you to CertainShadesOfBlue for helping me whip this baby into shape. She beta'd, but I meddled so any mistakes remain on me._

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It had barely been fifteen minutes since his world had exploded in such a glorious fashion before the harsh mistress that was reality began to sink back in for the Doctor. His hand, still cupping his most delicate areas, was beginning to grow uncomfortable. His pyjama pants were wet, and the moisture released from his body was beginning to cool in the chilly night.

He carefully extracted his hand from the worst of the mess, wondering why human evolution had developed a process that was so completely mind-blowing but so awfully unpleasant. He pushed the blanket back from himself, determined to clean himself up. There was only one problem—he didn't have any other clothes. He could have asked Rose whether there was another pair of pyjama bottoms, but that would have resulted in a wave of questions that he wasn't sure he wanted to answer. He'd been around human's enough to know there were certain things that weren't discussed in polite conversation. What he'd just experienced was definitely one of those things. Besides, it was illogical that Rose would have multiple pairs of men's pyjama bottoms. It was surprising enough that she'd had one pair that fit him.

Instead of facing awkward conversation, he headed into the bathroom for a shower. He was determined to rinse everything off, including his pyjama pants. He crept slowly past Rose's bedroom door, not wanting to wake her and face the interrogation he was now certain would follow.

Once in the bathroom, he spent a moment adjusting the temperature of the shower. Rose hadn't given him precise instructions on how to work the ancient taps in the bathroom. Even after three minutes, he was unable to get the temperature quite right. It was either scorching hot or ice cold. He refused to ask Rose for help now though. If he could send an army of Daleks and an army of Cybermen into the rift, he was certain he could manage even antiquated plumbing.

After fighting with the taps for another two minutes, he grew frustrated. He was soaking wet from head to toe but wasn't any cleaner.

_What I wouldn't give for my sonic screwdriver,_ he thought to himself impatiently as he smacked his hand against the tiled wall, which seemed to do the trick. He smiled and let fly a 'Ha!' when the shower was the exact temperature he desired.

Unfortunately, the perfect temperature was almost instantly accompanied by a loud groaning sound that he was certain would wake Rose—if his continued muttering and wall-slapping hadn't already roused her.

Reluctantly, he turned the temperature down just a little—although it felt like a good number of degrees to his new, overly-sensitive skin—and began to shed his now dripping wet clothes. The frustration of trying to get the water just _so_ had almost wiped from his mind the reason why he wanted to have a shower in the first place.

It was only as he turned off the wretched water completely that he realised that he had no towel, no change of clothes and the pyjama pants he'd worn in to the bathroom were now, while clean, completely soaked.

He looked around for a solution, wondering why adapting to this human life thing was so difficult. Aside from his earlier interlude, he wasn't doing anything he hadn't done before—he'd always showered after all. True, the water had never been such a bother before because his time-lord body adapted to the temperature. On board the TARDIS, he hadn't even needed to pat porous material against his skin to dry it as it was all part of the cleansing process. It just seemed like everything he did now was different.

As he rummaged through the bathroom cupboards trying to find a towel, or any absorbent thing with which to dry himself, he caught a glimpse of the bathroom mirror. The face staring back out at him from the mirror was a dishevelled mess. A five o'clock shadow darkened his jaw, his brown hair hung limp and wet around his face, falling into his eyes. It wasn't the finely mussed mess he was used to sporting.

Since he'd regenerated from large ears and almost no hair to an impressive mane, he had prided himself on having utterly remarkable hairstyles. He didn't even have to try, merely had to think of a style, and his hair just seemed to set that way without too much assistance. No longer, it seemed.

He was reminded once again just how different things were beneath the surface even though the outward appearance was exactly the same—or mostly the same at least.

As he stared into the mirror, he saw something else. Something he hadn't been expecting to see, but which warmed his heart just a tiny bit. He leaned closer to see whether it was just a trick of the mirror, or whether his eyes were deceiving him. It turned out, in fact, that they weren't. A stray hair in his stubble was the first that he'd noticed, but it wasn't the last. On closer inspection, he found his usually brown hair to be overrun with invaders.

He raked his fingers through his hair, clasping the ends of the lengths of them. A manic grin stretched across his features as he pulled it down in front of his eyes.

"Rose!" he bellowed as he turned from the mirror and ran to the bathroom door.

He threw open the door with his free hand.

"Rose!" he cried again as he ran in the direction of her bedroom.

He was so excited that he barely noticed the chill of the night air against his bare skin.

Thinking his shouts to be a cry for help, Rose hurriedly leapt from her bed and pushed her bedroom door open.

"Rose! Look!"

The Doctor's eyes were wide, his excitement obvious—on his face, and, if she noticed his nudity, in other places. In her sleep-induced haze, she couldn't help the small rush of giddiness she felt seeing him smile so brightly. It was a sight she had worried she might never see again, but then her mind slowly woke and regaled her with the bitter knowledge that this wasn't the Doctor—this wasn't _her_ Doctor.

He was, however, her responsibility.

"What is it?" She had to force herself not to say the name that was no longer his.

"Look!" he said manically, tugging at his hair and pulling the strands from their flat position against his scalp to form the tufted peaks Rose was used to. He bowed his head down as his hands continued their ministrations.

She looked, but saw nothing more than the carbon copy of the man who had held her heart for so long.

"I don't understand; what am I supposed to see?"

He tilted his face back up to her, looking like he thought _she _was crazy for missing the obvious, even though _he_ was the one standing in front of her, completely nude, tugging madly at his hair.

"It's…_ginger_!" His eyes widened as he whispered the word in reverence. "I'mnot 'rude and not ginger' anymore."

Rose looked closer and finally saw what the Doctor had realised while staring in the mirror, his once brown hair was now peppered with ginger highlights. Of course, the Doctor knew this was just another reminder of Donna's DNA intermingled with _his_.

He grinned up at Rose, waiting for the significance of the discovery—the reminder that he had _his_ memories—to sink in. If his words meant anything to her, she didn't reveal it. Instead, she turned her eyes away from his body and blushed, reminding him that his discovery had been made while he was naked and wet.

"Oh, um…"

He turned quickly, as Rose struggled to suppress a giggle over his obvious discombobulation. He dropped his head and rushed back toward the bathroom, unsure what he would be wearing, but eager to break the sudden tension.

If he hadn't been in such a rush to leave, he may have noticed Rose's eyes flick to his body at the last moment as he raced away. Had he not missed that furtive glance, it might have been enough to give him hope. Then again, considering how difficult he was finding his current adjustment, it might not have.

He pulled on the pair of boxers he'd been wearing beneath his blue suit. They weren't entirely clean, but they werecleaner than the pyjama bottoms he had been wearing before his shower. At any rate they were certainly _drier_. He doubled the blanket over himself, trying to find some warmth, and allowed his body to succumb to sleep.

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The Doctor's dreams were filled with Rose.

The curve of her lip.

The tip of her tongue, pressed against her top teeth.

The sound of her laughter.

The swell of her breasts.

The length of her legs.

Her breath panting in his ears.

The images flashed through his mind without direction or control. The images were of both things he had seen and things he could only hope to imagine. When he roused, hours after finally drifting off, the first thing he noticed was that his body had seen fit to inflate certain organs once more. Not only that, but his hand had migrated back to caress the swollen member.

As the morning bought realisation and remembrance to the Doctor's mind, his embarrassment over his actions the night before grew. He couldn't believe he'd been so excited about his discovery that he had raced from the bathroom with barely a thought. Where that once wouldn't have been a problem—his old time lord mind wouldn't have allowed him to forget something as menial as pants—he knew he had to be more careful in the future. Part of being more careful would be ensuring he had sufficient clothing.

He dressed slowly in his blue suit, lamenting that it was the only thing he could claim as being solely his own. Well, technically it was _his _own, but as _he_ wasn't likely to cross into Pete's world—and risk destroying all of time and space—for something as unimportant as a blue suit, he could claim it as such. Besides, the suit was a small recompense for being left as a hand in a jar for so long.

As if she knew he was awake somehow—or perhaps she'd just heard him thumping around the room—Rose knocked quietly on his door.

"Pete will be here for us soon," she said through the wood.

He opened the door and greeted her with a wide, cheeky smile. During the moments it had taken him to get dressed, he had decided to deal with the embarrassment of the previous evening the way he always dealt with most problems. He would ignore it, move on and forget that it ever happened.

Rose smiled; it felt like such a natural response, and for just a moment, she was once again the young girl who'd travelled with the wonderful man that could change his face.

"You were right ya' know."

The Doctor tilted his head in confusion.

Rose stepped closer, tilting her head a little. She raised her hand and ruffled her fingers through his hair.

"There _is_ some ginger in there."

Her tongue tucked under her top lip the way that he loved, and he was lost in her.

"You ready?" she asked, sobering as reality snuck in to steal away the moment.

He nodded even though he wasn't ready at all. He wasn't yet comfortable with one day ending and the next following in such a regular fashion. He wasn't sure he ever would be. Knowing that he would now be waking in the same century and on the same planet that he went to sleep just felt wrong. Previously, if he was in one place for too long, the TARDIS would make her presence known. The thought of his oldest, most faithful companion made the absence of her influence in his mind that much more tangible. He wondered if the hole in his conscious caused by the loss of her would ever reside.

Rose handed him a coat, biting her lip. "It's cold out."

The nervous anticipation which had dissipated momentarily earlier was back in force and threatening to choke the two of them. Again the Doctor wondered why she had men's clothing in her apartment, but it failed to escape his notice that they were all exactly his size.

As he pulled on the heavy coat, he thought how strange it was to need something like that to protect his body from the cold. Despite wearing a trench coat over the top of his suit in the past, it was something he was unaccustomed to. The outfits he'd selected before were never anything more than a means through which to express his personality. He'd selected cold leather and black—always black—when he had piercing blue eyes and a darkened heart. He'd been so angry and had still been in mourning for Gallifrey. Not the planet he time-locked to halt the spread of the war, but the true Gallifrey that was lost long before the Time War started.

That had been his chosen attire before Rose fixed him.

Only Rose had actually fixed _him, _and he himself was still broken. He was the destroyer of the Daleks. A perpetrator of genocide almost as bad as the atrocity _he _had committed to end the Time War.

Maybe a new outfit was in order. Maybe even an entirely new look.

_Well_, he thought as he fisted his hand through his hair—his ginger-infusedhair, _I'm part-way there already_.

~ 0 ~

The Doctor spun the office chair and considered the ceiling as Pete and Rose discussed his integration into society as if he wasn't present. At first, their attitude had annoyed him. He'd tried to interject, but a stern look from Rose had made him back down. She was doing what _he _had asked her to; she was fixing him. The first step in that process involved giving him an identity.

He'd tried to interrupt then and say that he had an identity; he was the Doctor.

That had earned him another stern look and an even sterner reminder that he wasn't _the Doctor. _

He'd grown bored trying unsuccessfully to include himself in the process of planning his new life. That was when he'd started swaying from side to side in the swivelling chair. Before long, he'd gone from gentle rocking to full turns.

He completed his latest rotation and found Rose and Pete staring at him. Rose's hands had found her hips.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well…what?" he returned.

"Do you have any ideas for a name?"

The Doctor tilted his head in confusion. He could name at least a dozen items in Pete's office which were all of extraterrestrial origin. "A name for what?"

"A name for yourself," Rose said slowly. "People are going to expect you to have a name. You can't just call yourself the Doctor."

He raised an eyebrow in response. It had worked for him for the last 900-odd years after all. He was about to voice that opinion when Rose seemingly read his mind.

"It worked for the Doctor because he could leave before people began to question him."

He could almost hear her mental addition. "_Besides, you're not the Doctor."_

He pouted under her glare. He had been so busy discovering and learning about what it was to be human, he hadn't thought about what would be required to live day to day in this new universe like a proper name. He felt incredibly put on the spot, but that proverbial mark was where he did his best work.

The Doctor knew he could just sprout of his usual alias, Doctor John Smith, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to. He always used that name because it was easy to remember in the moment, and easily forgotten by others. He wasn't sure he wanted such a bland name if he had to live with it for the next who-knows-how-many years. He wasn't certain his old academy nickname, Theta Sigma, would be appropriate either.

He thought back over all of the people he had met, those who had influenced him for the better, and those that he'd rather forget. He had a wealth of names in his memory-banks.

He just had to select one.

"Alonso," he said finally.

Rose stifled a chuckle when she saw the earnest expression on his face. "Alonso?"

The tone of surprise in Rose's voice made the Doctor pause momentarily, but then he pressed on. "It means noble. Besides, then you can say Allons-y Alonso."

He winked at her. He wanted to prove to her that he _knew _her. He knew their inside jokes. He wanted to prove to her—and to himself—that for all intents and purposes he was _him._

Rose was unable to contain her laughter any longer.

"Alonso then," she said through her giggles.

The Doctor beamed at Rose and realised that maybe she would realise that he and _him _weren't that different after all. Pete stared at the pair of them, completely oblivious to the shift in their uneasy dynamic.

"Alonso what?" Rose asked after her laughter stilled.

The Doctor considered this for a moment. The list of possibilities ran through his mind quickly, once again visiting his past aliases: Foreman, Forgeron, Caligari, McCrimmon, McCoy, Smith.

"Alonso Smith," he said after a moment. He'd known a few good Smiths.

"Doctor Alonso Smith it is."

He couldn't help but smile just a little wider at Rose's addition. He wanted to jump up onto the chair and declare, "_See you do know me!" _but knew it would be a mistake. Baby steps and all that.

With that piece of business finalised, Pete and Rose launched into a new round of conversation about the Doctor's—about Alonso Smith's—new life.

The Doctor went back to spinning in his chair.

~ 0 ~


	3. Chapter 3: Control

~ Chapter 3: Control ~

~ 0 ~

_A/N:- I don't own anything Doctor Who related. I wish I owned David Tennant._

_Thank you to CertainShadesOfBlue for helping me whip this baby into shape. _

_She beta'd, but I meddled so any mistakes remain on me._

~ 0 ~

So far, the shopping trip had been an unqualified disaster.

It wasn't that he hadn't selected a new outfit—no, that had been the easy part. He'd found a number of alternatives in a matter of minutes and was ready to leave again. In and out, like a military strike.

The disastrous part was Rose insisting that he try each outfit on. Then she wanted him to show them to her and walk around. He felt like a show dog being led around the ring on a leash. He couldn't stop the emotions bubbling away with each new outfit. He couldn't help that he was getting tetchy.

She'd even jokingly tried to get him to wear a bow-tie. He knew that bow-ties were utterly absurd, unless paired with a slick tuxedo.

_Who in their right mind would wear one willingly?_

She selected another three shirts and a pair of leather jeans that looked like he'd need lubrication to pull them on.

"Enough!" he shouted finally.

"Wh…what?" Rose was left clutching her latest finds and looking confused.

"I said _enough._" He crossed his arms and gave her the best 'oncoming storm' look he could muster with his human face. "I'm not spending the entirety of my existence on this planet in this shop."

She clamped her mouth shut to stop the laughter before raising one eyebrow at him. "Exaggerate much?"

He struggled to contain the smile that threatened to destroy the intensity of his stare. "Alright, fine, I may be exaggerating…slightly." He pointed his finger at her. "But you need to stop this."

"Stop wha'?" She said it so innocently that he almost believed she had no clue what she was doing; if not for the twinkle of mischief in her eyes, he would have.

"This endless parading around the store." He circled his hands around his head in demonstration of his point. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it's because you want to check out my glutes."

The lightest pink blush stole over the apples of her cheeks.

He gasped in mock-horror. "Oh, you were, weren't you?"

"No I wasn't," she said. Her defence was severely weakened by way her eyes trailed over his delicate frame momentarily as she said it.

"You totally were! You saucy minx."

"Saucy minx?" Rose chuckled. "Really? That the best ya' can come up with?"

Her chuckles quickly escalated to full belly laughs.

"Come on," he said, holding his hand out for hers. "Let's get out of here."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Don't you want buy a new outfit first?"

"Umm…" He scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck. He'd only just realised—while he was having his meltdown—that he didn't have sufficient funds to pay for his purchases. In fact, he didn't have _funds_ at all.

The tip of Rose's tongue found the top corner of her teeth in the way that made his heart melt. She grinned widely, and it seemed she knew something was up. She raised her eyebrow in question.

"Idon'thaveanymoney," he said in a rush, wanting to admit to his blunder before she purchased the items.

Her smile grew a little wider and mimicked her father's voice. "In this world…it worked. All those daft little plans of mine, it worked. Made me rich." She winked.

The Doctor laughed before joining her in the memory. "I don't care about that." He paused for just a beat. "How rich?"

Rose giggled again. "Very."

He was happy that she finally seemed to be seeing him as himself, or rather _himself_, and realising that the two Doctors shared the same memories. He sobered quickly at the thought of being a kept man though. "But seriously though, I can't get by on Pete's dime."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not Pete's dime, it's _my_ dime."

Somehow, that made it infinitely worse in his eyes.

"Let me buy you a few outfits as payment for showing me the wonders of the universe."

He eyed her sceptically.

"Alright, consider it a loan then. You can pay me back."

He frowned.

She huffed. "With interest."

He nodded. He could agree to those terms. As soon as he got the paperwork from Torchwood, he would be his own man. He could seek gainful employment. He briefly considered his options, but was completely dumbstruck, as he'd never before had to consider transferable skills and organising a resume. Perhaps he could take a leaf out of his other creator's book and temp. He was certain he had at least some of the skills necessary.

Or maybe he could use the one small win as far as his new life went. He'd managed to convince Pete to give him a driver's licence. Rose had argued that he didn't know how to drive a car. He'd grown incensed and insisted that if he could successfully pilot a transdimensional craft through the perilous reaches of time and space, he could handle a small box on four wheels. Pete had been suitably impressed and had agreed. Rose had just sat gaping with a sceptical look on her face. The Doctor had been tempted to poke his tongue out at her and say 'Put that in your wooden smoking receptacle and inhale the resulting particulate into your respiratory system!' but had resisted at the last minute, deciding that when someone is both your current host and the love of your life it is wise to know when to bite your tongue.

Such as when Rose suggested they go look for furniture while they were out anyway, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was demonstrating a near perfect impersonation of a pack-horse with the twenty-plus bags she'd saddled him with. Apparently, she had settled into her role as his guardian and decided that if she was staying in the one universe for a given length of time she needed to fill her apartment with meaningless rubbish. In spite of his belief that he would rather get home because, unlike the TARDIS, a cab wouldn't be bigger on the inside, he had agreed to her suggestion and dutifully followed her around furniture and homeware shops.

~ 0 ~

Finally home, and free of the mind-boggling quantity of shopping bags he'd amassed, the Doctor collapsed onto the makeshift bed in 'his' room. He felt the day had brought some small breakthroughs in his relationship with Rose, and that wasn't altogether a bad thing in his book. After all, she had smiled _and_ laughed.

He wondered whether she doubted the integrity of his words on the beach. Was it possible that she believed he was merely relaying a message from _him? _Did she even remember that he'd whispered those words or had the loss of the _real _Doctor overshadowed his declaration?

He may have only been days old, but he had loved her for years. If he admitted it to himself, he had possibly even loved her the first time he'd seen her and she'd given such a logical, considered answer in the face of the impossible.

'_Cos... to get that many people dressed up and being silly... they gotta be students.'_

He sighed to himself as he pictured her as she was then; a fresh-faced teenager willing to accept him at face value. She had thrown herself into the TARDIS and travelled with him with barely a reservation. He considered the woman she had matured into. She was reasoned and cautious, no longer as willing to throw herself into unusual situations. He knew what had caused the change. It wasn't the time they'd spent together travelling through time and space. No, it was losing him that had precipitated the change in her behaviour. She had grown up because she had been forced to accept living in a world where fantastical things didn't happen every day. Then, just as she'd been given her second chance to discover the wonders of the other universe, she had been forced to change again.

It was his presence that damned her.

There was not a single doubt in his mind that the Doctor would have whisked her away in a double-heartbeat if it wasn't for him. Donna had finally helped _him_ come to grips with losing Rose, but it didn't stop _him_ wishing and hoping that somehow, against all odds, they would find each other again.

Then Donna had created him. In doing so, she had inadvertently woven a tether that would, through the Doctor's request, anchor Rose to Pete's world. He felt like he was a weight around her ankle, pinning her in place. He wondered whether she resented him for that. He wondered whether that was why his words at the beach hadn't been mentioned since.

The fact that Rose was considering buying furniture for a previously empty apartment meant she was taking her commitment to heart. It meant she was planning on staying in the one place - staying with him. Instead of being the relief he had thought it would be, he felt like he was holding her back.

He shook his head. He was thinking too much. He needed to calm himself down before he stormed into Rose's room and demanded that she tell him how she felt about him. He was likely to say something he would regret if he did that.

Besides, he wasn't sure she'd really had time to process how she felt. He'd barely processed it beyond the fact that he was born loving her and would love her until he drew his final breath. It wasn't a choice for him; it was just how he was made.

Though, if he did have the choice, he would choose to love her.

Images of her began to fill his head, and once more he felt a prominent organ on his body rising to the occasion. Flashes of the previous evening rushed through his head. She had seen him naked, he recalled, and she hadn't seemed horrified by the experience.

He thought about the way her eyes had explored his body languidly as he had been forced to parade outfit after outfit through the shop. As he closed his eyes, he pushed his memory in another direction. Instead of having his little outburst, he pretended he had confronted Rose more deftly on her desire to watch him as he paraded around. He was astonished at the clarity with which he could see the scene unfurling in front of him. It was almost as if he was watching it on CCTV in his mind.

He saw himself saying something terribly predictable and horribly corny to her, before taking her hand and leading her into the change room him. Almost as soon as they were secreted away in the little room, he pounced on her, taking his hands and running them into her hair as he crashed his lips against hers.

He imagined what it would feel like, her warm body pressing tightly against his. He knew exactly how it would feel because the memory of it was burned into the synapses of his brain. He pictured them pulling each other's clothes off one by one. He'd seen glimpses of Rose over the years: a sliver of stomach as she reached up to grab something off a higher shelf, her legs elongated by a pair of pink pumps and black stockings beneath a retro pink dress, the top of her breasts spilling out from an electric blue jacket. He had seen enough to piece together a decent mental picture.

His hand trailed down to cup himself. His body had been paying close attention to the visions in his head, and his nether regions were pulsing and aching for attention. Just the softest touch, the slightest stroke, and he tumbled back into the blissful oblivion he had discovered the previous evening.

He panted harshly as his body slowly calmed from the wild rush of his dizzying orgasm. He wondered whether they would all feel like that. Whether each time, he would experience feelings almost identical to those he had felt when he stared into the untempered schism; except then he had felt the compulsion to run away as quickly as he could, and now he wanted to throw himself headlong into the void.

If only he could figure out how to convince Rose to hurtle through the vortex with him, he got the impression it would only be that much better with someone else—specifically with her.

He had no way of knowing that a few walls and a door or two away, Rose was having a dilemma of her own. She loved the Doctor. She had known it before he'd changed his face, and the time they spent together after that change only cemented her love. She had literally thrown herself across the universes in search of him, only to be left back where she had started her new journey, back in Pete's world. Only now, she had an extra responsibility.

In the minutes and hours after the TARDIS had dematerialised, the stark truth had sank in. He relied on her. He was no longer in control, no longer had a plan. He was nothing more than a facsimile of the man she loved, an inferior copy.

She had wondered how she would be able to entertain him. She worried whether she would actually be needed to stop him from committing genocide again. The words of the Doctor before he left her with his doppelganger had left her a little afraid that she would be dealing with an unstable man.

However, her observations of the past twenty-four hours indicated he was much more like the man she had been torn away from during the Battle of Canary Wharf than the angry, blue-eyed man who had peered through her mum's cat-flap so long ago. He wasn't the crazed man born on a battlefield that she had feared. He was the crazy, impulsive Doctor who had stalked through the Torchwood offices wearing a pair of old fashioned blue and red 3D glasses.

It didn't escape her attention that he seemed to be trying in earnest to make her comfortable around him. She knew the Doctor—the one who had left her here with his copy—would have hated the mere idea of shopping for furniture, yet her Doctor—Alsonso Smith—had followed her willingly from shop to shop, and he hadn't complained once. Sure, he'd made his displeasure known in his own way; he wouldn't be the Doctor if he hadn't.

And wasn't that the point?

She was finally beginning to see what he'd been wordlessly trying to tell her since she'd kissed him back at Bad Wolf Bay. Every element of the wacky, wild and completely impossible man who she loved was present in his single-hearted copy. He _was_ the Doctor.

Despite her realisation, she also knew that he wasn't the same man at all. He seemed to exude a new sexuality that had been little more than an undercurrent in his previous incarnation. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from saying something dirty while making him parade in the shop. At one point, he had worn a shirt slightly too small, and she had seen both his chiselled chest—something she had no clue existed beneath that pinstriped suit—and his back dimples. She hadn't known he had back dimples, but when she'd seen them, she wanted to fall to her knees and trace them with her tongue.

Everything about his body was enhanced by the transformation to his 'less perfect' human form. She no longer thought it was less perfect though. His natural charm oozed from him to the point where she had to force herself not to jump his bones when they reached the bedding department.

She was inextricably disappointed that he had secreted himself straight into his room when they'd arrived home. She wanted to talk with him about the documentation she and Pete had arranged for him. She wanted to discuss his employment options. She wanted to bonk his brains out.

After he'd disappeared and left her alone with her confused thoughts, she'd headed for her own bedroom. Her thoughts spun, and she longed for a moment of clarity like the one she'd experienced in the store.

A quiet knock on her bedroom door startled her.

"Rose?" the Doctor's voice whispered through the wood.

She crept to the door and pulled it open a little.

"Yes, Doc—" She paused, just like she had every other time she had gone to say the only name she knew him by, before deciding to admit to her recent realisation the only way she knew how. She looked him square in the eye. "Yes, Doctor?"

She'd seen him smile before. She'd even seen him grin widely from time to time—the moment he saw she was back in the other world came to mind—but none of his previous smiles came close to the look of pure, manic joy on his face in the instant he realised she had called him Doctor. His answering grin made any concern she had about voicing that name evaporate. She also worried for the state of her panties, as she had serious concerns they may have evaporated too.

His eyes left hers and found her lips, lingering there for a moment. Her lips suddenly felt dry as his gaze burned her skin, her tongue slipped forward to wet them. His eyes followed the path of her tongue with rabid interest, his pupils dilating and his breath coming faster. Her teeth buried down into the pink flesh of her lips, baring her tongue from tracing the same path again. His mouth mimicked hers, his teeth sinking painfully into his full lip.

He scrubbed his hand repeatedly across the back of his neck in an obvious sign of his discomfort—if such a word was appropriate for the feeling of his entire being unravelling due to his proximity with her. It was almost as if she was a black hole, sucking him into her gravity field, pulling him faster the closer he got. He could never turn away from her, he knew that with certainty. The only thing he didn't know is how she would react. It would be such a simple thing, less than ten inches separated their lips. One step, and he could have her in his arms.

He remembered catching her after she had fainted in New New York, after Lady Cassandra had left her body. She was warm and felt light in his arms despite falling the way she had. If it had been appropriate, he would have held her for longer. Now he wanted to hold her and never let her go. He wanted to crush his lips to hers and enforce his passion onto her. He wanted to leave her with no doubt of how he felt, what he wanted from her.

Yet he was paralysed by the fear that she would reject him.

He could see his death coming swiftly in the form of one small word.

Two letters.

N. O.

Once uttered, they would be the signing of his death warrant. He would never love again and would pine away for Rose until his single heart stopped beating. He wasn't sure he would survive the agony he knew her rejection would surely cause.

He was also learning that part his new human physiology came with a very melodramatic flair, and he placed the blame squarely on Donna.

"Oh, goddamn it."

The words had fallen from Rose's lips easily, breathlessly, as she watched him rub the back of his neck the way _he _had done whenever he was lost or confused. Almost as soon as the words were free, she was on him. Her hands fisted into his hair on either side of his head, and she pulled him, almost roughly, against her. Her lips flattened against his as she charged forward, doing what she had learned to do since joining Torchwood in Pete's world.

She was taking control of the situation.

~ 0 ~

**A/N:- I'm having such a fun time writing the Doctor. I hope you are having a fun time reading it. Please don't hesitate to tell me what you think. **


	4. Chapter 4: Kiss

~ 0 ~

~ Chapter 4: Kiss ~

~ 0 ~

_A/N:- I don't own anything Doctor Who related. I wish I owned David Tennant, especially after seeing Single Father *sigh*._

_Thank you to CertainShadesOfBlue for helping me whip this baby into shape (and for the totally giggle/smile worthy comments LOL) . She beta'd. I meddled. _

_Any mistakes that remain are mine._

~ 0 ~

It took the Doctor a moment to realise that Rose's lips were pressing against his. She was eagerly searching for reciprocation, and he was still standing like a stunned mullet, allowing her to do all the work. Her hands remained fisted tightly in his hair, and the pressure on each of his follicles was like a tiny miracle.

Slowly, his brain kicked into gear and he awoke to the fact that _Rose's_ lips were on his.

Rose was kissing him.

_Rose_ was _kissing _him.

With a soft moan, he finally responded. His lips parted, becoming soft and malleable, moulding to fit hers. The soft wetness where their mouths combined was more perfect than he could have imagined. His ever-insistent organ, despite unloading only moments earlier, sprang to life as the blood rushed away from his brain. One of his hands cradled the back of her head, threading his fingers into her hair, while the other wrapped tenderly around her body. His palm rested against the small of her back and his fingers pointed toward her hip, searching eagerly for a gap in the material covering her skin.

He used the leverage of this position to pull her against him, crushing her to his chest. Despite every part of her pliable body joining with his, it wasn't enough. He craved closeness, a contact that he could only now begin to dream of.

Rose mewed softly as her mouth opened slightly, and her tongue joined the dance. The shock of feeling it run softly along his lips jolted the Doctor momentarily. Before he had time to think _'What was that, and how do I get her to do it again?'_ his own tongue had leapt to meet hers. Unaware of what was customary when tongues met, having only ever extended his courtesy as far as open-mouthed kisses, he followed her lead.

Despite his strong hands forcing her to him, Rose wanted to get closer still. She wanted to crawl inside his suit and feel the heat of his skin scorching her in the best way. The throbbing sensation from the apex of her thighs was a feeling she had forgotten long ago, and she welcomed it back with relish. It was impossible to worry about arousal when you were busy hurtling yourself across time and space. Mickey had been the last one she'd been with—and not even in this universe. In Pete's world, she was a technical virgin. She had been saving herself for _him_ even though she knew a physical relationship was unlikely.

Now she throbbed and ached with the desire to feel her body being stretched and filled the way only he would be able to. Even as they kissed, she could feel his impressive length pressing against her body, desperately seeking a way to escape the confines of his clothing. She knew she could free it in an instant, but she stalled.

The Doctor was new to this body and new to this world. He wasn't just a technical virgin, he was an actual one. She had no idea if the other Doctor had ever had _relations. _Regardless, the man she was kissing—the man she was practically dry humping outside her bedroom door—never had. She couldn't force herself onto him without telling him how she felt first. Part of her wanted to take things to the next level as quickly as possible because she wanted it—she wanted him—so badly, but another part realised she needed to be the responsible one in the relationship.

She was dealing with a man who had been human for less than a week, who could not possibly be used to the dizzying rush that accompanied hormones. She also recalled that jumping into bed with men too quickly often turned into a disaster. She thought briefly of Adam who had been, for lack of a better word, disappointing. Especially after that terrible fainting incident onboard Satellite Five.

Rose continued to kiss the Doctor. She continued to feel his single heart beating hard and steadily in his chest. And she continued to ache for more, for what felt like hours. Finally, she forced herself to be the mature one. She slowly extracted her hands from his hair, even while her lips and tongue continued to caress his.

Then she ever so carefully slowed her kissing. She reined in the passion; first she stilled her tongue, then finally, reluctantly, with one final suck on his bottom lip, she broke apart from him before resting her forehead on his chest as she struggled to catch her breath.

The kiss had surpassed any expectations she'd held. The kiss on the beach at Bad Wolf Bay was rendered chaste in comparison with the one they'd just shared. She throbbed once more as she considered the possibilities a kiss that passionate alluded to.

The Doctor couldn't wipe the goofy expression off his face. He tried as soon as he sensed she was pulling away. He didn't want to be caught looking like he'd had too much to drink—even though that was how he felt. He was drunk on Rose, and he wanted more. He swayed slightly as she leaned against him. He wanted to laugh. A feeling of euphoria was lodged in his chest, directly where his heart should be. He wasn't entirely sure what the protocol was after a kiss like _that,_ but he was certain it didn't involve laughter.

His arms remained wrapped around Rose, and her head remained on his shirt, directly over his pounding heart. He wondered whether he had wiped years off his life making his heart work so hard. He decided that even if he had it was totally worth it. Warmth spread though his being, starting in his heart and spreading outward to occupy all of his limbs.

The stillness in the unit was broken only by their shallow breath. Sure he could hear the neighbours going about their various tasks, but he could only focus on the beauty in his arms.

The longer her silence lasted, the more uneasy he became. Had he done something wrong? Was his technique woefully inadequate? Had he somehow lost his ability to snog? Even with his reserved kisses, he had been known to curl a few toes in his time. Had he lost that ability too? What he and Rose had just shared well and truly surpassed any kiss he'd ever had before.

_Surely she felt that too? _

Maybe she was comparing their kiss to others she'd had in the past. Did he compare with Mickey? With Jack? With _him_?

He held her tighter at the thought. What if she found his kiss so utterly repulsive that she could no longer be around him? He couldn't even begin to consider the pain he would feel if he were banished from her presence. She wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her head against his neck, in the space just beneath his chin. It was almost as if she had felt his insecurity and wanted to reassure him. He felt her inhale deeply before she stepped back.

"Um…wow!" he said when she was out of his arms.

She smiled shyly and nodded. Then she ran her fingers through her hair as her eyes glazed over momentarily. "Yeah," she chuckled breathlessly. "I know."

He reached out and trailed his hand through the path her fingers had taken. He met her eyes and slowly, tentatively—waiting for her to say stop—bent down to press his lips ever so softly against hers. Her eyes fluttered closed as she realised his intention.

He longed to deepen the almost chaste kiss. He was hungry for her again. He wanted more of the heat that burst between them moments earlier. First though, he needed to ask her his burning question; the one that had driven him from his room and encouraged him to knock on her door.

If only he could remember what it was…

_Dinner! _

He grinned against her lips as his mind slowly began to process other things, things that weren't Rose. He was starving. Even as he began to pull away from her again—leaving Rose biting her lip and staring coyly at him—his stomach growled angrily.

"Dinner?" he asked.

"Sure." She smiled.

Their meal had been a study in barely repressed sexual tension. Rose had ordered in Chinese, and the Doctor was certain she had learned how to eat it in such a way that made it akin to an acute form of torture. He couldn't decide which was worse—or better depending on the way you looked at it—the way she licked her fingers when she was finished, or the way she reached over and gently swiped a drop of soy sauce off his lower lip with the pad of her thumb—before promptly sucking on it.

Her thumb that was.

Unfortunately.

He would have loved for her to suck on his lower lip again.

He considered whether she could possibly know how crazy she was driving him.

They attempted to hold a proper conversation, but each time their eyes met, memories of the kiss they had shared stole away their tongues. Instead, they made small talk.

"I've always wondered how they made these," Rose murmured.

"What's that?" He had to ask because Rose had been eating an egg roll, and he was admiring the way her mouth wrapped around it, all wide lips and tongue. He imagined briefly what wonders that mouth could do on his throat, his chest and on other parts of his anatomy.

"I've always wanted to know how to make an egg roll."

"Push it, I'd imagine."

He shifted in his seat as she laughed at his terrible joke. He knew it was a flirting technique—just as his, admittedly lame, joke had been—but he was taken off guard by it. He wondered why twenty-four hours had seemingly changed Rose's view. He wanted to ask her about it, but was too afraid she'd tell him he was mistaken. That he was misinterpreting her signals and her kiss.

Afterward, they retired to the sad old futon that was currently pretending to be a sofa.

"Doctor," Rose said quietly as she sat down, bringing her legs up in front of her and leaning her head onto her knees. "I've been dying to ask…" she trailed off and burned crimson.

He longed to reach across and offer her something to ease her obvious discomfort.

"Your name…"

_Which one?_ He felt like asking, instead he merely nodded, knowing he'd get his answer soon enough if he stayed quiet long enough for Rose to get the question out.

"Well, you said it meant noble, and I was just wondering…" She sighed before laughing nervously. "Why is this so hard?" she asked.

He figured her question was rhetoric, so chose not to answer it.

"I was wondering why it mattered what it meant."

He furrowed his brow. "Don't most people pick names because they mean something? Practically every life-form I've ever encountered places a value on their names. Even the Daleks, at least where the Cult of Skaro were concerned."

"But that's what I mean, why was it important that it meant noble?"

He smiled as he recalled the brilliance of his 'mother'—for want of a better word. Donna had been so insecure, her life so shallow, but with the smallest of intervention from him, she'd been able to shine like a diamond. She had been the Doctor Donna.

"I wanted a name that would reflect my history." He scrunched his nose up a little. The tiny part of him that was still Time Lord was decidedly uncomfortable talking about emotions and feelings. He pushed it aside. He wanted Rose to know this. He wanted Rose to know everything about him. "Donna is a part of me, just like the Doctor is. I kinda...well I wanted to honour her in some way, even though she'll never know it. She's shaped the world in unimaginable ways—well, you saw it."

He shuddered as he remembered what Donna had told him about the parallel world that had been opened around her by the trickster. He knew Rose had seen that world.

"She was so important; for one moment she blazed brighter than anyone could ever imagine, and now she's nobody."

Rose tilted her head in question. "Why?"

"She had a head full of Time Lord thoughts in a human brain. She was already starting to burn when we were left here. I don't know how much longer she would have would have lasted, but eventually he would have had to wipe her mind just to stop her from dying."

"That's terrible. So she just, what, returned to her normal life?"

He nodded sadly. "She would have been left behind; another victim of the curse. I did that to her." He ran his hand through his hair. "Well, I guess _he_ did it to her. It's his cross to bear, just as it's mine."

It was Rose's turn to shudder as she remembered the Doctor's words when she asked whether she would be left behind.

"_I don't age. I regenerate, but humans decay. You wither and you die. Imagine watching that happen to someone you... You can spend the rest of your life with me, ,but I can't spend the rest of mine with you. I have to live on, alone. That's the curse of the Time Lords." _

"No," Rose said fiercely. "That's not _your_ curse anymore. Is it?"

Her last two words were so quiet and fragile that it was impossible to miss their meaning. She worried hevwould leave her behind, even as he worried she would soon tire of him without the wonder of the TARDIS to tie them together.

This time the Doctor did reach out his hand. He reached out for her, and she wove her fingers through his.

"No, no it's not."

She smiled shyly at him, and that's when he realised it. She loved him. He could see it buried deep inside of her eyes, the tiny spark that he'd seen before; that was the thing that had been absent since Bad Wolf Bay. He wondered if she even knew it herself. He knew she wasn't ready to admit it. He was though; he was willing to shout from the rooftops that she loved with him and that he was in turn equally enamoured by her. He still worried she would flee. Though he knew she loved him, he couldn't be certain she was _in _love with him.

"Is that going to happen to you though?"

Her words broke into his thoughts. He didn't need to ask what she meant, especially not with the flash of concern evident in her eyes. He should have known telling her about Donna would lead to this question. She always asked the most pertinent questions—the ones often overlooked by everyone else.

_Was it going to happen to him?_ He couldn't lie to her; it _was_ a possibility—after all there had never been another like him in the whole of the multiverse and no one knew exactly what to expect—but he doubted it. He'd experienced no ticks, no burning, no unexplained headaches. He would have expected to see the very early signs by now if something was going to happen. "Donna was human first and foremost, with Time Lord thoughts forced into her human mind. I was made this way. The matrix of my DNA is a combination of both human and Time Lord."

She frowned. "You didn't answer the question."

He chuckled nervously before answering as honestly, but carefully, as he could. "It's a possibility, but a very slight one."

She nodded, and he knew the answer wasn't the one she wanted. She wanted an emphatic no. It confirmed to him what he had seen in her eyes. He didn't see much point in explaining to her that life was fraught with danger. Technically, he could come off second best after meeting a bus tomorrow. In life, there were no promises of safety. Even as he wanted to explain that, he longed to reassure her that he would never leave. He knew it was an empty promise; one day, his body would give out, and he would die. It might not be for another fifty years, or a hundred, but it was inevitable.

As she looked to him for reassurance, the moment seemed the perfect time to increase their physical contact. It was one way he could show her how he felt. What's more, he could no longer resist. He leaned carefully toward her, waiting for her to stop him. Instead, she moved her legs out of his way and practically invited him to come closer. He held the metal armrest with one hand and the back of the futon with the other. Resting his weight on his arms, he shifted his body to hover just over hers. She slid a little further down the futon cushion to align herself against him. He leaned in closer and lightly touched his lips to hers.

She welcomed his touch ravenously, pressing her body up into him as she claimed his mouth eagerly. She sighed as his body weight dropped slightly and rested against her. He found his body settled almost perfectly into her grooves. He rocked his hips against her slowly at first, and then with just a little more friction. It felt even better than his hand ever could. She made small sounds which he was certain were designed to drive him crazy. She sucked on his bottom lip once more. Individually, each feeling was good. Combined, it felt fantastic.

So fantastic.

_Too_ fantastic.

He'd barely found his rhythm in the kiss and the gentle grinding which his body seemed to do of its own accord, before his heart began to do the pounding thing and his teeth clenched together. Moments later—far too soon he knew—he was falling into oblivion, tumbling end over end down into the world of ecstasy he'd recently discovered.

Only the bliss didn't last very long. Instead, a burning shame crept through his limbs. He knew that _that_ shouldn't have happened quite so quickly. He was terrified that Rose would soon begin to feel the wetness emanating from him. He was sure she'd already noticed the slackness in parts of his anatomy which had moments earlier been rubbing against her in a way that had been highly pleasurable. He mightn't have known much about human relations, but he was certain he was supposed to have held himself together at least until they were both naked.

He wondered how he could make his escape before Rose's possible suspicions were confirmed. He extradited himself from her arms quickly, which a soft, apologetic kiss, before shouting a 'good night' and running for his bedroom. He was dying to go to the bathroom to clean up, but it would have been too obvious.

He decided then and there that he wouldn't be able to proceed further with Rose until he was sure of his technique. He was a quick study, certain he'd pick it up and be able to control things before too long. If only someone made books or instructional movies that would help him learn. He figured he'd have to go out in the morning and find some. Perhaps the local library would be a good place to start. He tried to remember whether Pete and Rose had arranged a library card for him.

His sudden disappearance left Rose panting and wanting on the futon without any explanation for what had just happened. Well, without an explanation, but with a definite suspicion. She'd been with boys just discovering their sexuality before, granted when she was much younger and learning about those things herself, but she knew the signs of someone unable to hold their load. She knew the Doctor was still getting a handle on his new body and his hormones. The incident confirmed her thoughts during their first kiss of the day—he definitely needed to be handled with care, at least temporarily.

_It'll be _so_ worth the wait_, she thought to herself. She just had to get through her day at work first– her first official day back at Torchwood, not counting the visits she'd needed to organise the Doctor's paperwork. She no longer knew what her purpose would be there, but she needed to be responsible now that she had another mouth to feed. It had been decided during her meeting with Pete, and the added bonus was that she would be able to bring home the paperwork she'd arranged with Pete. By the time she came home, the Doctor would officially be Doctor Alonso Smith.

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**A/N:- Thank you for sticking with me. I'm having such fun writing this! Love your feedback **


	5. Chapter 5: Adult

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~ Chapter 5: Adult ~

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_A/N:- I don't own anything Doctor Who related. I wish I owned David Tennant, especially after seeing Single Father *sigh*._

_Thank you to CertainShadesOfBlue for helping me whip this baby into shape. She beta'd. I meddled. _

_Any mistakes that remain are mine._

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The Doctor waited until he'd heard Rose pack up and head to work before he surfaced from his room. He wasn't quite ready to face her yet. He worried that she would want to continue what they'd started the previous night, but another part of him worried that she wouldn't. He knew they needed to talk, but he planned to get a few things organised first.

He crept into the kitchen and noticed a note sitting on the bench next to her phone.

'_Gone to work. Will have a surprise for you tonight. This should be enough to get you through today.'_

Underneath the note was an envelope containing one hundred quid and a key which he assumed was for her apartment. He tucked it into his pocket and decided to face the big, bad world on his own. Aside from the fact that he didn't have the familiar, comforting feeling of the TARDIS in the back of his consciousness, it would be just like any another adventure. A new world to conquer—a brave new world.

The Doctor wasn't even sure where to start, so he took a moment to plan out his day.

_What do I want most of all?_ He thought to himself.

What he _really_ wanted—a TARDIS of his own so that he could take Rose travelling again—was impossible.

What he wanted that was actually achievable, now, that was a relatively short list. Well…truthfully the items of the list weren't really what he wanted, but rather what he thought he should want given his situation—stuck on Earth with Rose.

His mind flashed back to her words when they'd lost the TARDIS and were stranded on a planet balanced impossibly beneath a black hole. _Stuck with you though, that's not so bad. _

The thought made him grin. It was almost enough to make him forget the task at hand, but then he remembered the list. Find a job, feel less of a burden and get Rose to fall head over heels in love with him.

_Easy. _

He knew he couldn't tackle the first task on his to do list. After all, the absence of ID would make finding gainful employment a tad difficult. The second item would be achievable only on completion of the first.

Which only left the third point as his goal for the day. The only problem was that he hadn't the foggiest idea how to make someone fall in love. He knew the theories, of course. He had read books—many, many books—during his 900-odd years of life. His study included all of the great, and some not-so-great, romance novels. Even taking books out of the equation, he had seen thousands movies and TV shows. The problem with literature and scripted shows was that they were always formulaic and structured. If he knew one thing about humans though—and Rose in particular—it was that they never followed any particular formula.

He had also witnessed first-hand couples meeting and falling in love. He couldn't pinpoint one particular element that guaranteed relationship success. Similarities, differences, ethnicity, even religion, all could hinder or help a relationship depending on the people involved. There was no rhyme or reason.

It wasn't rational.

There was no _plan_.

That's when the Doctor realised that he was perfectly placed to woo Rose. He operated best when there was no plan. He was brilliant at making things up as he went.

He knew that dinner and flowers would be a good place to start, even if it was a little cliché. He knew that sometimes things were cliché for a reason. It didn't take long before he realised that his money wouldn't stretch quite far enough for both. Not unless he shopped smart.

He decided the first thing he needed, the one vital purchase for the day, was some form of instructional video should things…_progress. _He didn't expect to 'get lucky'. It was only their first date. Well technically, it wasn't even that. He hadn't actually asked Rose out, he wasn't even sure she would be home for the evening meal. Regardless, he wanted to try to impress her, so he just wanted to make sure he was prepared when – and if–the moment came.

By the time he hit the road in from of Rose's flat, he realised that his shopping options would be limited by geography. He wanted to maximise the amount of money he had available for their evening, which meant that he wouldn't be able to take a taxi.

After finding a dinner solution almost instantly, just down the road from Rose's flat and feeling immensely proud of himself in the process, he wondered the streets somewhat aimlessly for a few hours. He found a few small book shops but none of them seemed to offer what he needed. He was just about to give up and return home when a tiny sign above a door down a side alley caught his eye. It was what travelling across the universe was all about for the Doctor—discovering the undiscovered.

He glanced at the almost inconspicuous sign again as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

'_Adult Shop'_

He had a suspicion about the types of items an adult shop would hold, and all of his suspicions were confirmed the instant he stepped foot inside. There were items he'd seen before, when a companion brought certain items aboard the TARDIS to scratch their itch. At the time, the Doctor hadn't understood the need for it. He didn't feel the same way anymore.

Now he wondered how the more chaste of his companions lasted as long as they did. Even though he had pleasured himself multiple times over the last few days, it was all his mind seemed to be able to focus on. Except he knew his own hand, or the inside of his pants, wasn't what his body needed.

Beyond and around the items he recognised, was a selection of equipment which wouldn't have looked out of place in a Sycoraxian torture chamber. Outfits littered one area, each seeming like they were missing some vital piece of material, were three inches too short or were made out of some inflexible shiny material.

On seeing the other, somewhat unexpected, items, his imagination ran rampant. He envisaged the various uses of the equipment and part of him wanted to run. He'd turned around and very nearly left the store when a selection of DVDs along the wall by the door caught his eye. Watching and mimicking were both valid training methods. He would get a better idea of what it was all about. He knew the basics; obviously, he'd been around humans enough to know how their anatomy and reproduction worked. He'd heard various companions over the years engaging in various 'activities'. He'd even heard Rose on occasion—a sound which at the time had little impact on him, but now made him burn with envy.

He'd never _seen_ it though. He'd never tried to imagine in any great detail what occurred between a man and a woman; or for that matter a man and a man, or a woman and a woman. The logistics of it appealed more to his half-human brain than they ever had to his Time Lord one.

He just wanted to be prepared. He wanted to know what to expect as he peeled back all the layers of Rose's clothing and saw her revealed before him. Wanted an arsenal of moves he could use to ensure she felt sufficient enjoyment from the proceedings.

He picked up a handful of the DVDs and began to peruse the cases. He skimmed the information on the back of the cases and tried to find any that promised instruction or tuition. The first one was a parody of what he knew was a popular book series. He'd read the books, the DVD didn't look remotely interesting though. They certainly didn't look informative.

On the back of next case he'd picked up, he saw the use of at least nine of the various scary items he'd noticed on his initial glance around the shop. Now that he'd seen how they were used, they didn't look any less terrifying. He put that DVD down very quickly, certain he didn't want to travel down that road yet. He was quite happy to stay firmly on the pleasure side of the fine line.

The last three DVDs were all part of a five-part set and they actually held some promise. He read and re-read the information blurbs on each of them, checking and double-checking whether they would be of assistance. They spoke of bringing spirituality into lovemaking, discovering the gateway to great sex, learning of the importance of pleasuring the woman first. The later DVDs in the series seemed to be a demonstration of various positions and really it all seemed far too worrisome for the Doctor.

He looked at the prices of each and considered his budget. He knew he had to pick just one of the five titles and wasn't sure which would be the best option. The sensible thing would be the start at the beginning, and therefore he should have bought the first in the series. However, the Doctor had never been one for doing things in the right order. He purchased the second DVD in the series, which apparently focused on pleasuring massages, extended foreplay and oral stimulation. Once his purchase was safely ensconced in a brown paper bag, he almost ran straight back to Rose's. He'd certainly wanted to. He was eager to review his purchase and see whether he could learn some of the techniques.

Instead, he stopped at a tiny florist and brought a handful of daffodils. He knew so many crazy customs of the planet Earth, and one of those was how to communicate with flowers. He knew precisely what daffodils meant, and it was everything he wanted to say to Rose: new beginnings, unrequited love—although he hoped it wasn't—and, most importantly, you are the only one.

It was still too early to put his dinner plans into action, so he went back to Rose's flat. He looked the over the DVD he'd purchased. He thought about putting it on, but just the blurb on the back of the case had given him some…ideas; absolutely brilliant inspiration.

He hid the case in the bottom of the store bags which were currently doubling as his wardrobe as his mind began to turn over the wondrous new ideas. Like tongues. He never knew tongues could have so many purposes. And teeth. And every other part of a warm, wet mouth. He'd never considered the idea of lips or tongues going _there_. Now that the idea had been awakened in him though, he couldn't shake the thought. He was pants-less within seconds.

He imagined what wonders the sweet little cavern of Rose's mouth would hold. He had experienced the giddying glee of her glistening tongue gliding gracefully across his lips—apparently it was enough to make his thoughts alliterative. He pictured her tongue exploring other reaches of his body. The word bliss came to mind.

He knew it was a poor substitute, but he licked his own finger and ran it down the length of his neck, imagining her tongue the whole time. Shivers ran the length of his body and his thick, swollen member pulsed.

He licked two fingers again, ensuring they were very wet, and ran them delicately over the engorged head of his recently discovered, absolutely marvellous organ. He hissed loudly with the pleasure of the wet softness. He pictured her tongue tracing the same path, running back and forth as she lavished attention on him. He imagined how it would feel to have Rose's mouth caress him, the tip of him stroking the back of her throat, and, almost instantly, came hard over his hand and stomach.

_Holy… _

He panted, waiting for his body to calm.

He _really_ needed to get that under control.

~ 0 ~

The Doctor had recovered from his own imagination showered, dressed, found a vase for the flowers—well, _vase_ was a little romanticised; realistically, it was a plastic jug—and ordered dinner. It was a little after seven, and Rose wasn't home just yet. He hoped she wouldn't beat the meal, he wanted it all set out and ready for her, but he also knew it was a precarious balance. The sort of meal that wouldn't last long once it was laid out to eat.

There was a knock at the door and he raced to answer it. He slipped the delivery driver the last of his funds and took the food from him. He raced around quickly, laying plates on the table and pouring drinks.

Almost the moment he began to peel open the delivery, the door opened. Rose stepped in, looking exhausted.

"Long day?" he asked solemnly, certain his best laid plans were now meaningless.

She shrugged out of her coat and shrugged. "Just glad to be home."

He wondered what part he played in her being 'glad'. Then he wondered what part he played in making it 'home'. He wondered whether he should hug her? Kiss her cheek? Shake her hand? It had never felt this awkward between them on board the TARDIS.

"I've got something for ya," Rose said, as a delighted smile crept across her face. She held up a plastic envelope and the Doctor could see his own face staring back at him from a variety of cards stuffed in with what looked like a small mountain of paperwork.

"What is it?" he asked, even though he was certain he knew.

"It's you. Well, it's the new you."

He raised an eyebrow. "The new, new me?"

"Introducing Doctor Alonso Smith." Rose slipped a passport out of the plastic sleeve and handed it to him.

He grinned. He'd never actually had a passport before. He'd had his psychic paper, and of course that could double as a passport in a pinch, but he'd never had an official document allowing him to pass from country to county. He wasn't really a border-patrol type of guy. He wondered where his psychic paper was now—he'd always kept a spare in the pocket of every jacket. He hadn't thought of that when he'd last worn the blue suit. He hadn't even given it a second thought. He'd have to investigate whether it was still there, and whether he could still use it, but that could happen later.

More important than his identity though was his non-date with Rose.

"I took the liberty of ordering something to eat," he mumbled, scrubbing the heel of his hand against the back of his head. "If you're hungry?"

"Famished." She smiled brightly.

He led her to the table and moments later presented her with her meal.

She paused momentarily when she saw what he was serving, wondering whether she was allowing her overactive imagination to intensify the significance of the meal. _Maybe he just felt like chips. _

"It was what we had on our first date," he murmured, his cheeks flushing red. He sniffed and looked away.

A lump of emotion wedged solidly in Rose's throat. She tried to talk around it, but it was useless.

"I thought _we_ needed a new first date," he continued, his voice near silent and burning with emotion.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed. The air grew thick, and it was almost as if everything and nothing separated the pair. They each knew that his statement, although simple and easy to brush aside, changed everything they would share from then on. He was almost daring her to draw a line under her life with _him_ and start a new one with him.

"I, um, I bought you these as well." He disappeared into his room for a moment, returning with his bright yellow purchase.

"Daffodils," she breathed.

She wasn't certain how they were supposed to eat, or talk, or do anything other than stare at each other through the no-longer-just-companionable silence. He had, by his actions alone, confirmed what he'd told her on the beach. Confirmed what she'd suspected and barely dared to hope.

"Rose," he whispered.

She looked from the flowers to his face. It was burning with the same emotion that seemed to be filling the room with invisible smoke, choking her and forcing tears to prick at her eyes. The smell of the food which he'd obviously put thought into filled the air, but it was almost too easy to ignore. Even though she _was_ hungry, it didn't register because she no longer hungered for food. She took one slow, steady step toward him, which was all that was necessary to set off the chain reaction in her body. One step became another until she was hurtling across the room in his direction. He barely had time to release the flowers and catch her in his arms.

Her lips were needy, fiercely attacking his in her frenzy to be close to him. She wanted him to have no doubts that she was happy to draw the line. He was all she wanted, and in that moment, all she could ever want. Air, food, water, life—they were all meaningless without him. She'd known it when she'd been deserted on Pete's world the first time. She would have given anything if he had only been deserted with her. A life without the TARDIS, she could almost consider; a life without him was impossible. She had meant it when she'd told him on Krop Tor that being stuck with him wasn't so bad. She could face almost anything with him at her side.

The Doctor held her just as he'd caught her when she'd practically leapt into his arms. Her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, and he felt like he was finally, _finally_, home. His lips pressed to hers just as hungrily. He wanted to hold her, he wanted to possess her, he wanted to _please_ her.

He spun around and, without loosening his hold, took three steps until her body was pressed against the wall. He pinned her with his hips, grinding desperately against her to release the friction that was running through his body. There wasn't an inch of him that wasn't screaming to touch her. He wanted to unleash himself upon her and experience her with each of his senses.

His hands wandered her body, aimless but desperate in their search for the unknown. He wanted skin to skin contact, but each time his fingers contacted one piece of her flesh, he worried there was somewhere else he should be touching. Somewhere better. Somewhere new.

He dipped his head and pressed desperate kisses against the column of her throat, stroking with his tongue and tasting her delicate flavour. His hands reached for her blouse, unbuttoning and pulling, reaching and stretching. Rose moaned quietly beneath his touch, until his hand brushed lightly over the cup of her bra. Her moaning then became wanton and needful. Her hips pushed forward to meet his, striking over and over. Her pulse was racing beneath his fingertips, and he felt powerful that he could elicit such reactions.

His mouth continued to follow his hands on a downward path, tracing the newly exposed peaks and smooth regions of her body. He still had no idea what he was doing, but his overwhelming urge was to explore, to follow the curves of her body. To go down, always down. Her legs slipped from their hold around him, and she leaned heavily against the wall, panting heavily.

He trailed small kisses over her soft stomach, his touch becoming less needful and more reverential. He reached down, his fingertips dancing across the bottom of the pencil skirt she was wearing. He fisted his hands and pulled the material upward toward him. He fell to his knees as he continued to shift her skirt out of the way, pushing it higher, revealing the tops of her creamy thighs. He didn't stop until the material was all gathered around her waist, and he could see his destination before him.

It had been unthinking on his part, but now he realised that _of course_ this had been his goal when he'd began his downwards trail. He licked his lips as he considered what he was about to do. It was momentous, it was almost sacred. It was something he had no clue how do it, and yet it was something he was certain he would succeed at.

He hooked his thumbs into the waist band of her panties and rolled them slowly down the length of her legs. He lifted Rose's legs one at a time to remove the garment entirely before throwing them across the room. He sat back on his heels for one moment and gazed up at Rose. The love of his life. She was barely-dressed, flushed and panting. Her heart was still racing and the slight, sweet scent of her arousal tinged the air. He couldn't help but marvel that he'd been the catalyst of all of these reactions.

He did that to her.

His hands found their way to the top her of thighs, running gently from front to back and sliding higher until his fingers touched her hips and his nails dug ever so slightly into her buttocks.

His lips touched the small dimples in the front of her hips, one at a time, so softly she'd almost missed it. Regardless of whether her mind registered them, her skin didn't miss a trick and flamed hotter still at his tender ministrations.

His nose skimmed across her pubic bone, brushing gently against the soft, manicured curls at the apex of her thighs.

"Oh, God!" she sighed as he breathed against her heated skin, the warmth tickling her wet flesh.

A moment passed where he looked up and her eyes met his. He chose that precise moment to move his mouth forward and taste her gently with his tongue. In the second before her eyes were driven closed by the pure ecstasy of the moment, she'd seen his eyes roll slightly in a look that could only be described as elation.

The Doctor had tasted very many things in his life. Some he liked—bananas were a prime example—and some that he didn't—pears—but nothing before had been as unique and, in his opinion, perfect as what he experienced when his tongue first met her arousal. It wasn't that the taste was a delicacy, as such, but the chain reaction it set off in her body and his _was_. Almost instantly, her hand was searching for him, finding his hair and fisting into it. His body, while hard before, grew painfully so.

He closed his eyes tighter to enjoy the sounds Rose was making that much more and pressed his whole mouth against her. His tongue followed the movements she had taught him the previous day as she'd kissed him passionately, and Rose mewed and swore in response. He had no idea what he was doing, but soon realised that Rose's hands where guiding him. He was the one on his knees worshipping her body like the goddess that she was, and she was helping him. He couldn't help but smile. He soon found he wanted to explore more, to go beyond the soft lashing his tongue was giving her swollen bud.

He moved his hands from her waist and pressed his fingers softly against the mound on each side of her pink flesh, before parting the skin softly. He massaged his thumbs through her curls as his nose rubbed her little nub. Then his tongue eagerly explored deeper, delving into her body before copying the moves Rose had taught him once more.

The arch of Rose's left foot touched softly against his shoulder, opening her up to him even further. While one of her hands remained tangled in his hair, her gentle guidance had disappeared, replaced with a frantic scratching and pulling that he knew was instinctive. Her other hand had left him to brace against the wall as she pushed her hips desperately against his willing mouth.

Her hand twisted in his hair, pulling until it was almost painful. Her thigh quivered against his cheek as his tongue explored deeper still. He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer to him. He couldn't get close enough to her or deep enough inside. He pushed against her body and felt her sliding higher on the wall until the tips of her toes on her right foot were barely brushing against the floor.

Her whole body quaked as he rubbed his nose against her and lapped at her body, pushing his tongue as deep as it would go. Both of her hands were fisted into his hair and she was pulling him against her, neither of them able to get anywhere near enough to fulfil their purpose. The Doctor could hear Rose's teeth clenching together as her breath came in staccato pants. Her whole body was tense and rigid in his arms. He recognised the signs in her body that he'd experienced in his own. Every part of his body, of his mind, of his entire _world_, was focused on watching, and feeling, and hearing, and _tasting_ Rose come apart because of him.

He moved his mouth slightly so that he could suck on her swollen bud the way she was sucked on his lower lips. As if that tiny movement shifted the whole world, everything changed. One long extracted moan fell out of Rose's lips, and her body began to convulse lightly as the tension fell away. Her limbs became boneless and fell away from him. He knew she was riding out the bliss, and he was the only thing keeping her upright in that moment. He held her tightly, not willing to risk damaging her trust in him.

He pressed his lips against her swollen flesh one last time before helping her to get her legs underneath her. It was odd, he thought, that although the one particular organ that liked making itself known was present and accounted for, he didn't feel the immediate need to pleasure himself. He enjoyed watching Rose come apart as much, possibly even slightly more, than he did finding the bliss himself.

He could only imagine what would happen if they found it together—at the same time.

Once Rose was steady on her feet, he released the hold he had on her, and his mouth trailed her body in reverse, seeking higher and higher until his lips met hers. He tasted and kissed her slowly and steadily. The need from before had dissipated as soon as he'd fallen at her feet.

"You must be hungry," he whispered when he finally released her mouth.

She sighed contentedly. "Famished."

She slowly adjusted her clothing until she was at least part-way decent—even if she had no panties on under her skirt.

She smiled shyly, as if she hadn't just experienced that wondrous connection with him, as if all of her secrets remained hidden. "Alons-y Alonso," she said quietly, holding out her hand in invitation.

"That might just be the sexiest thing you've ever said." He grinned.

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**A/N:- Some of you may know (particularly the whovian purists) that there was originally a deleted scene where Ten gives the metacrisis a piece of TARDIS coral so he can grow himself a new one. This scene was ultimately cut from the episode and now it remains a piece of non-canonical canon. For the purpose of **_**this**_** story I am ignoring that scene. **


	6. Chapter 6: Always

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~ Chapter 6: Always ~

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_A/N:- I don't own anything Doctor Who related. I wish I owned David Tennant, I would totally check out his no doubt mad skills._

_Thank you to CertainShadesOfBlue for helping me whip this baby into shape. She beta'd. I meddled. _

_Any mistakes that remain are mine._

~ 0 ~

The chips were cold by the time they sat down to eat them. Regardless, they were the best tasting chips the Doctor had ever had.

They were 'she loves me' chips.

Better yet, they were 'she's _in_ love with me' chips.

They ate slowly, taking time to study one another, all the while ignoring the water and flowers that had spilled from the plastic jug when the Doctor dropped it.

As they ate their meal, and their eyes consumed each other, their bodies were in almost constant contact. Her foot traced the inside of his calf. His fingers trailed along the outside of her arm. He caught a strand of her hair that hid her face and tucked it behind her ear. She skimmed her thumb over his full bottom lip, brushing away excess salt. His tongue slipped forward and traced the pad of her thumb as it trailed his lip. She pulled her hand away, touching her thumb to her own lips. Her body slid down in the chair, giving her extra reach; then her toes trailed over his knee and touched his thighs.

They looked in each other's eyes and did the one thing that seemed most natural—especially to them—they burst out laughing.

The Doctor was finding it almost impossible to believe that just over forty-five minutes earlier, he'd had Rose quivering and shaking above him. It seemed surreal, and he started to wonder whether it had just been a vivid fantasy. He closed his eyes briefly to remember the specific details, and it was all still there. As fresh and bright as any one of his memories, he could recall everything in crystal clarity: the sounds, scents, emotions and the taste—oh gosh, the _taste!_

He opened his eyes to catch Rose clearing up the plates he'd served dinner on. As she came back into the room, he caught her wrist lightly in his hand.

"Well, that was certainly an interesting evening," he said, grinning manically as she began to flush red at his words.

She breathed deeply and spoke in a rush as she exhaled. "An' who said it's over?"

His smile vanished, and he swallowed heavily. He wasn't at all prepared for this. But then, he hadn't been prepared earlier either, and he'd done just fine then. More than fine. If Rose's reaction was any indication, he'd been fantastic. Brilliant. _Molto bene_.

He couldn't help but worry that had been a fluke.

Rose's hand caressed the side of his face gently. "Don't worry; I won't bite."

She offered him her hand, which he took readily. She led him in the direction of her bedroom.

"Hard." She turned back and winked at him.

He swallowed heavily again. The terrifying items he's seen at the adult shop flashed into his mind. Maybe Rose was into that sort of thing. She'd seen plenty of unusual things while travelling in the TARDIS after all. She always did seem to enjoy them that little more than she perhaps should have. He was about to stop in his tracks and lay out a few ground rules when he realised she was watching him with a gentle look of concern.

"I was joking."

"Yeah, course, I knew that," he bumbled.

She stopped and turned into him. "We don't have to do anything. Not if you don't wanna?"

He tilted his head and gave her his best give-me-everything smile. "I want to."

She sighed in relief. "Oh thank God. Cause I _really_ want to."

The Doctor felt his heart speed up again.

_Surely all this fast, slow, fast, can't be good for it?_

Before he had time to really process the thought, or the implications behind it, Rose pushed open her door. The bedroom behind was something of a surprise given the furnishings in the rest of the house. In contract to the sparse, unfurnished living quarters, her bedroom was filled with rich, warm, wooden furniture and tiny knick-knacks, little pieces of evidence about the person who lived within—the kind of trinkets that made a room feel lived in and loved. He saw a photo of himself—well, himself when he'd still been _him_—from the Christmas they'd spent in Jackie's apartment. He couldn't focus on any of the smaller items though, because looming before him, larger than life and squeezed between two bed side tables, was a massive king-sized bed.

Somehow, standing staring at her bed, with its rumpled blanket—she'd long dropped the habit of making it each morning, because she never knew if she would be sleeping in it that night—made what was about to happen seem much more real. He felt awkward and out of place. It wasn't the frenzied passion that had overtaken the two of them earlier. It was quiet and reverential and…

_Oh my god, I'm going to screw this up. _

He couldn't stop his mind from conjuring up the worst case scenarios. Would he be too small? Too big? Would he be unable to control himself and hurtle into oblivion the instant that she touched him? Would she laugh at him? Hate him? Would she ask him to leave? Would he be terrible?

He couldn't imagine a world where Rose was terrible at anything, so he knew that wasn't a possibility. That one tiny fact gave him hope. If she couldn't be terrible, surely by extension, they couldn't be terrible together?

Rose saw the panic overtake the Doctor and paused momentarily. She wanted to reassure him, but _that _look on _that _face was just so incredibly out of place she was thrown for a loop. Nothing ever concerned him; at least, nothing aside from her well-being. He always grew a little worried when she was in danger, or upset, or if he worried that he wouldn't be able to fulfil that infernal promise to Jackie—the promise that had ultimately seen her stuck in Pete's world.

_That's all it is_, she decided, _he's just worried about hurting me or something._

She looked back at him, reassurances resting on her lips, but she never needed to say them, never had the chance. The Doctor gathered her into his arms, sweeping away his doubts and her own with the slightest touch. His lips found hers, and she sighed into his mouth as he kissed away the last of her worries.

Slowly, but with an ever-building passion, her mouth parted, allowing the entrance of his tongue—the tongue that had thoroughly explored her earlier. Her need grew within her, blooming in her chest, and expanded outwards in waves of desperation. She clung to his arms as her tongue clashed with his.

She took control and pushed him toward her bed, feeling him collapse under her as his knees gave way when he hit the mattress, but that wasn't enough to make her release her hold. Instead, she straddled his hips and deepened the kiss. Finally, she pulled away to force air into her burning lungs. She took the opportunity to motion to him to move into the centre of the bed. She stood back up and stepped away from him, indicating she'd be back momentarily.

She raced to the bathroom, hoping against hope that buried somewhere in amongst her cupboards was some protection. She'd been a little lax on the birth control for a while—it hadn't exactly seemed like top priority while she was thundering around the multi-verse. She found three little foil packets on the bottom shelf and thanked every deity she could think of that they were there. As she stood, she caught a glimpse of herself in the old, rusted mirror and bit her lip. Her checks were flushed perfectly pink, her hair was ruffled in that 'I might have spent a few hundred quid on this' way and her lips were dark pink, plump and full. Making out with the Doctor looked good on her—she'd definitely have to keep doing it.

She tucked the packets into the cup of her bra and raced back into the bedroom. After she'd left the room, The Doctor had shifted into the centre of the bed as Rose had suggested, but immediately felt a right twit lying waiting. He knew she'd be back, but he felt like he needed to be doing _something_. He ended up pulling himself up to her pillows and sitting to rest his back against her bedhead. It might not have been much of an improvement, but at least he didn't feel like he was lying down waiting for his life to change. No, he was sitting up for it instead.

As he noticed her return, his face lit up in a mega-watt smile which she couldn't help but return.

He watched as Rose took two steps closer to the bed, unbuttoning her blouse slowly. As soon as she was close enough, he reached out for her and stilled her hand. He didn't vocalise his desire, but he wanted to do it–well _undo _it. He wanted to reveal each inch of her skin slowly, properly this time, and he wanted to worship each and every cell thoroughly.

He pulled her hand gently, guiding her onto the bed and over his body so that she was resting on his legs before leisurely unbuttoning the rest of her blouse. He opened the material ever so slowly, watching as more of the creamy silk of her skin was unveiled. Finally, when all of the buttons were loosened, he pushed the soft material from her shoulders and let it fall to the bed. He noticed three blue and silver foil packets tucked into her bra, but didn't say anything. He knew their purpose well enough. The anticipation of what they meant sent his blood on a decidedly rushed journey southward. Rose plucked them out softly and threw them onto her bedside table.

He sat up further, wrapping his arms tenderly around her waist before pressing his lips to her shoulder. Her warm body flinched under his lips, spurring him on to do it again. _Again. Again. Again. _

Rose's head and shoulders dropped backwards within the hold of his arms, extending her neck and opening her chest up, as the Doctor lavished his attention over her body. Small, gentle kisses pressed across her shoulders and onto her clavicle. His hands caressed the smooth skin at the base of her spine, his fingers constantly in motion as if seeking something unseen. His kisses grew more heated, longer, his tongue slid forward, and he experimented with lightly scraping his teeth against her skin.

Fingertips crawled higher, searching for the clasp of the final item covering Rose's chest. He deftly twisted and turned the small hooks until he felt the material spring away. With a soft moan of anticipation, he slid the elastic straps down her arms, revealing another piece of the perfect prize he had somehow been lucky enough to win. He stared in wonder at her bare skin, mesmerised by the way her collarbone swept in and hinted at what was below, leading to two peaks each tipped with a tiny pink rosebud. His breath quickened as he thought of touching, caressing, tasting.

Rose's hips ground to a natural rhythm as she sought friction—_fulfilment_—and slowly the Doctor moved his hand to cup her chest lightly. They exhaled softly in unison as the pad of his thumb swiped across her nipple. He closed his eyes and traced the same path with his lips, then his tongue, and finally, ever so lightly, his teeth. His mouth continued to discover and devour her skin as his hands went in search of the zipper for the only item of clothing that remained on Rose's body. Her pencil skirt pooled loosely around her thighs after he'd successfully found and unzipped the remaining fastener. His fingers pushed down, shifting the material to reveal more, more, more, but never enough. He would never get enough of Rose. She lifted her hips and shifted in place just enough to remove the last item of clothing.

Then she was straddled over the top of him.

She stared at him for a moment in silence. It was almost as if she could feel the weight of his stare: assessing, judging, finding fault. But then, his eyes met hers and the emotion, the depth, shining within them made her throat constrict and her eyes water slightly.

There was no judgement, no assessment, just love and reverence. With just one look, he made her feel like the most beautiful creation in all of the multi-verse.

He longed to touch, to taste, to _love_, but with just one touch, a soft press of fingers against his lips, she stopped him temporarily. He had devoured her, he had unwrapped her, and now it was her turn.

She released the buttons on his shirt one by one, moving slowly but steadily down his chest. His skin flinched and fluttered beneath her silken touch, and his eyes fought to be closed to enjoy the sensation; he struggled against the need though, determined not to miss one movement she made.

Rose bit her lip softly as more of his body was revealed—the outline of his abdominal muscle, not quite hard and defined, but far from soft; the lean but muscular chest; the light spattering of ginger and brown hair that speckled down his front and created a distinct path into the waistband of his trousers. She traced the plains of his chest before trailing her fingers along his 'happy trail' and catching the button on his pants. She made short work of the fastenings, climbing off his body momentarily so that she could slide his clothing off of his body.

The sight of him lying in front of her, naked and proudly erect, made her clench her thighs in desire. She climbed his body slowly, peppering small kisses as she went. Her stomach fluttered with equal parts nerves and anticipation. She had done this before—even though it had been a while—but she'd never done it with someone she felt so _much_ for. She never ached, and desired, and _wanted_ so badly before.

The Doctor had his eyes screwed tightly shut as Rose's lips tenderly caressed his skin. He'd never felt anything so wonderful. His imaginings of her tongue were nothing—_nothing —_on the reality. Her tongue ran swirls and figure-eight's and it felt great. Better than great. Fantastic.

Her hands found his stomach and she splayed her fingers wide. It was like she wanted to be everywhere all at once, on him and around him and with him. He couldn't get enough of her touch or her lips.

His aroused tip brushed against her smooth skin as she ascended his body, lightly stroking along her breasts, her chest, before finally resting against her stomach in the space between their bodies. The small amount of friction created as Rose reached forward to finally—_finally_—touch her lips to his was bliss. A low, guttural moan ripped from his body as her hips pushed against him. It was so much. Too much. He felt the familiar tightening in his loins and knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He wanted to though; oh God how he wanted to.

"Rose," he moaned. "Rose."

She stopped her movements and sat up. The Doctor opened his eyes as he felt her warmth almost disappear entirely. The only connection that remained between them was the far too small point where the inside of her thighs pressed against the outside of his. She sat like that for a full minute, at least, as the two of them panted through their shared desire.

Slowly, her hands began to massage across the front of his pelvis, stroking softly until he felt the tightening begin to subside. It still felt amazing, but he was no longer fighting off the pending climax. She bent over his body and planted open mouthed kisses across his stomach, his body arching up against her breasts in response.

She spoke between her kisses. "I…want…you…"

He pushed up onto his elbow and raised his head off the bed, catching her eye. "You have me." His voice was choked with emotion; he knew a none-too-small part of it was lust, but there were so many other emotions mixed into the pot that it was almost impossible to discern them all. "All of me. Always."

She held his eye and felt her heart skip a beat. It was a small promise that reminded her of all the other ones he had made during the time she'd known him—the new him, not the _him_ she'd met when she was nineteen. He had promised they would have a life together.

'_I'm part human. Specifically, the aging part. I'll grow old and never regenerate. I've only got one life... Rose Tyler. I could spend it with you. If you want.'_

With his statement, he was reaffirming that promise; just as he'd done by agreeing to a new, Torchwood issued identity; by ordering chips, of all things, for their first date; by _arranging_ a first date. Rose was so blown away by the depth of the promise held in his seven little words that she was momentarily stunned into stillness. When she could move again, it was her lips that moved first, blooming into a smile so wide her cheeks stung. She had no words adequate enough to respond to his statement, so she did the best she could.

"Yeah," she nodded. "That's what I want."

She moved slightly, and before the Doctor could understand why, she had settled back into her previous position, straddled over his upper thighs. An unfamiliar sound, a soft tearing, filled the air and suddenly her hands were _on_ him.

Gently, she rolled a tube of thin rubber down the length of his shaft, stroking him ever-so-lightly with her fingers as she moved. He fought to remain still with everything that he had knowing it would be too easy to buck into her hands and find his release. He knew he would regret that move, knew with every fibre of his being that what was going to happen next would be a thousand times better than that simple pleasure.

Rose's lips began their soft caress of his stomach and chest again as she shifted position once more. Now, she rested over his pelvis, holding herself up off his body as she continued to kiss and stroke and _love_ him. The Doctor had no doubts in his mind about what this was. It wasn't just for fun or because of some primal drive to reproduce. She was showing him her love, and he wanted to return it in spades.

She captured his mouth hungrily, pouring every ounce of passion into her kiss. It was as if she had never kissed before and was worried she might never get the chance again. When his mind was focused solely on way it felt as her tongue invaded his mouth, searching for and finding every point of pleasure, she lowered herself onto him with a drawn out gasp.

The Doctor's hands shot from their neutral position beside his body to clutch at her hips as a feeling of being enveloped, swallowed, _caressed_ overtook his pelvis. It was the single-most _most_…_something_ he'd ever felt. It was mind boggling that something so simple could feel so good. He hissed through his teeth at the sensation that felt _so _good it was almost damned painful. His body tightened almost instantly, and his mind screamed at him to just push, push, _thrust goddamn it! _

He resisted the urge, holding onto Rose for comfort, for security, and just to know that she there, that she was the one doing this to him. He worried he was clutching her too tightly, that his fingernails were digging into her flesh, but couldn't for the life of him release his grip.

Slowly, the urgency began to subside. He began to notice that Rose had started her pattern of small circles and soft kisses again. He focused on that sensation. He was willing to try anything to prolong the feeling of sweet, sweet agony.

He even managed to release his hands from her hips, reaching for her instead. He pushed his fingers into her hair and guided her toward him, crushing her lips to his in an almost punishing embrace.

Rose tilted her hips away from him, and he felt his body drawing out of hers. He wanted to shout out a protest against it. It almost seemed like a crime. He wanted to stay connected this way, intertwined so perfectly, forever. His voice was stolen as Rose pushed her hips back toward him, sending his body sinking deeper into her.

He tried to speak, tried to tell her how good it felt, but all that escaped his lips was a jumble of consonants and vowels that he doubted even the good ship TARDIS could have translated. Each time Rose's hips shifted against his own, a new sound that he'd not been aware he could make escaped from him. He felt the familiar rush, the feeling of spinning into oblivion, building within him. Just when he thought the inevitable was about to happen, Rose stopped moving. She sat up and waited patiently while his body calmed, and his breathing slowed.

He reached up for her, desperate to keep some other connection besides their most intimate one. His fingertips explored her stomach, reaching higher and caressing the underside of her breast. She leaned forward slowly, allowing the pads of his fingers to explore her soft, milky peaks. He wanted to taste them while he was inside her. Would she somehow taste different? Would her body react to his soft kisses the same way his did to hers? Would every sensation be amplified, as if his body could feel the pleasure in two centres rather than just his brain?

He pushed himself up, being careful not to dislodge Rose from his lap, and wrapped his arms securely around her. He dipped his head and took one of her perfect pink buds into his mouth. She groaned, and her hips moved involuntarily. He played with her sensitive pink skin; with his lips, with his teeth before he smoothed them with his tongue. She was bucking against him now, moving subconsciously with no regard for how close to the edge it was sending him.

"Rose," he whispered against her shoulder, before kissing her skin softly. "I don't think I'm going to last—"

She stopped his mouth with a kiss, drawing his tongue out to play with her own as she ground her hips into him. When her mouth released his, she pushed him back down to the bed. She grabbed one of his hands and gently guided it to the spot where their bodies joined. A look of mischief overtook her face, but he didn't worry. He trusted her to the ends of the Earth—Pete's world, her Earth, any planet really.

She pressed his finger against her body, sliding it down until he felt her sleek wetness. She directed his touch until it was resting against the small nub that the Doctor knew was her clitoris. She braced one hand on his shoulder and began to speed her pace. She lifted herself almost completely off his body before pushing herself closer to him, each stroke seemed to send him further into her and closer to perfection. His hips arched off the bed, desperate to fill her completely. His finger stroked and rubbed the spot she had led him to over and over.

Before he knew what was happening—he hadn't even noticed the build-up this time—he was tumbling over the edge. Nothing existed in that moment aside from him, Rose and sweet, sweet release. His body pumped desperately until he felt like all of his bodily fluids had been drained.

He finally started to come back to himself as all the tension in his body drained away with his release. It was then that he noticed Rose was still flushed, her body still moving against his, desperate to find her own relief. He moved his fingers along her clit in time with her motion. He didn't want her to find fault in their first time. He couldn't stand the thought of leaving her disappointed.

He was almost certain he was going to let her down when the most miraculous thing happened. Rose gave a series of small moans and sighs and her body clenched down around his deflating organ.

He grinned manically at the thought that for the second time in one night, he'd left her panting and fulfilled. He opened his arms and caught her as she slumped, satiated and relaxed, onto his chest.

Her breath tickled his ear. "I love you."

He was beyond words, beyond anything besides the feeling of their bodies pressed together. He squeezed her tightly to acknowledge her words.

~ 0 ~

**A/N: Thanks everyone who is supporting my little bit of David Tennant/10.5xRose madness LOL**


	7. Chapter 7: Anytime

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~ Chapter 7: Anytime ~

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_A/N:- I don't own anything Doctor Who related. I wish I owned David Tennant, I would totally check out his no doubt mad skills._

_Thank you to CertainShadesOfBlue for helping me whip this baby into shape. She beta'd. I meddled. _

_Any mistakes that remain are mine._

~ 0 ~

The Doctor woke in the early hours of the morning with a strange feeling running down his arm. It was, in fact, a very similar feeling to the one he'd experienced after absorbing the Roentgen radiation at the Royal Hope Hospital with Martha watching on. Somewhere deep in his mind he recalled that he shouldn't be thinking of Martha at that particular point in time, but he couldn't recall precisely why. His arm drew his attention again. He wasn't entirely sure human arms were supposed to get the feeling of syphoning radiation through a limb, so he wasn't exactly sure why he had it: a prickling, aching, itching, numb sort of feeling.

He tried to move his arm, thinking that if he could examine it, he could perhaps figure out the reason for the dull, prickling ache, only to realise it was pinned down underneath something. Something warm. A soft, whispering breath blew rhythmically across his chest. His _naked_ chest. Things were starting to become clearer, but he didn't dare to believe that he was correct in his assumption.

He tilted his head slightly and smiled when he saw Rose's blonde hair falling in a cascade over his arm and across her face. The location of her head, nestled tightly into his shoulder, seemed to go some way toward explaining the feeling in his arm. Now that he'd worked out the reason for his discomfort, it was easier to ignore. He wasn't willing to move her when she was sleeping so peacefully.

He began a silent appraisal of his body, trying to catalogue the various feelings. He realised he wasn't quite naked anymore, he must have cleaned himself up and pulled his boxer shorts on at some point during the night. His left arm tingled from where Rose's head rested, cutting off the circulation. His body ached slightly, but it wasn't so terrible that he wouldn't do _that _again. His heart felt like it had swollen to twice its original size—her whispered admission being a significant factor. He wondered what it would mean for the two of them, moving forward. He was in her bed for the night, but was that only because they'd fallen asleep together? Would he be relegated to his own room upon her waking?

His mind began to turn over the complications they were sure to face. He was terrified, and his heart began to race. Could he make this work? He wanted to, so badly, but what if he did something wrong? He didn't want to lose her. He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself until Rose woke and he could address his questions, concerns and, if he was honest with himself, fears with her.

He rested his cheek against the top of Rose's hair. Suddenly, just having her lying on top of him sleeping wasn't enough closeness. Just thinking about the possibility of not having her in his life made his throat constrict and he wanted to hold her tightly and never let her go. He twisted his body so it was aligned with hers and wrapped his arms around her. She murmured his name softly in her sleep, and he clutched her to him.

Their new position, with her body aligned along his, allowed him to feel every inch of her naked skin. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and her breath tickled his throat. He stroked his hand languidly up and down her back, not really awake but not quite asleep.

Rose gave a throaty moan and pushed her body against his fingers, stretching unconsciously into his grasp. It was all the motivation his body needed to spring to life. He involuntarily released a soft groan as his hands found their way to her hips, and he pulled her against him.

She shivered slightly and moaned again. He shifted slightly to plant soft kisses onto her cheek, then her lips. The instant his mouth found hers, she sleepily met his tongue with her own and began grinding softly against him. Now fully awake, the Doctor twisted their entwined body so that his hips were anchoring her against the bed. He pushed his upper body away from hers and exclaimed softly at the perfection beneath him.

His lips met her skin and consumed hungrily, tiny kisses peppered across her collarbone and down onto her breasts. He took her perfect little buds between his teeth and gave them a gentle tug. Rose pushed her hips up toward his, and her eyes blinked open.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

She grinned widely. "Very good."

She found the only barrier between them, the soft satin of his boxer shorts, and pushed it away, freeing his body so they could lie skin to skin. He pushed against her naked body, once again amazed at how perfectly he just _fit_ into all of her curves. It was almost as if he was made with her in mind—specifically shaped to mould together perfectly. He refused to consider the fact that this was possibly true of men and women in general; as far as he was concerned, it was a wonderful anomaly meant for just the two of them to experience.

He caressed her skin with his mouth as his body rubbed delicately against hers, his lips finding her cheek, her ear, the column of her throat. He licked and sucked, nipped and nibbled. He wanted to taste every part of her and devour her essence.

Rose scrapped her fingernails down his bare back, and the Doctor noted that it wasn't nearly as painful as he might have once thought. In fact, it was a rather pleasurable experience. Her legs wrapped around his, and he marvelled once more at how perfectly matched they were. At least he did until he was utterly unable to concentrate on anything other than how soft her skin was and how it tasted like a fine balance of honey and salt each time his mouth met it.

As he rubbed his body along hers, he found himself growing desperate—and just generally growing—to fill her again as he'd done before they'd drifted into slumber. Only this time, he wanted the control. He wanted to keep kissing and tasting, rocking and loving. He wanted to worship and conquer simultaneously.

He untwined his body from hers.

"Umm, Rose, I…well, I'd really like to…"

He couldn't think of a time his mouth had been less inclined to form words. A blush stole across his cheeks as he tried to think of the proper way to ask whether your partner was willing to engage in _relations_.

Luckily for him, Rose was highly intuitive—not to mention more than a little horny herself—and understood what he was trying to ask; or the crux of it anyway. She sat up slightly and reached for one of the magic packets on her nightstand. She ripped it open before he gently took the little rubber sheath from her and placed it over himself. He wasn't really sure how it worked, never having needed the use of a prophylactic before—well, excluding the previous night, but Rose had been in control then.

"You need to pinch the tip," Rose said quietly as she watched him closely.

His eyes bugged at the thought of pinching _there_. Rose had to stifle her laugh and very nearly bit through her lip as she tried.

"No, the tip here," she used her gentle fingers to demonstrate. "Like this."

The Doctor wasn't really watching, he knew he should have been but the moment her fingers caressed his skin, his eyes had rolled backward, and he'd inhaled sharply. She guided his fingers to roll the rubber down the last of his length before running her eyes slowly over his body and sliding back onto the bed, trailing her fingers down his chest and onto his stomach as an invitation.

He didn't need to be asked twice, nor did he ever refuse an invitation.

He quickly found his previous position, his whole body aligned with hers, only now he was conscious of taking it to the next level. He used his knees to gently coax her legs a little wider apart and gripped himself lightly. He watched Rose's eyes, silently asking for permission. She gave a tiny nod, and he guided himself into her as gently as he could as Rose twisted her hips to help him.

He knew when he'd found the right spot—the perfect spot—as her body yielded to him. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers as he adjusted to the feeling of the different angle of their position. Rose's hands clenched his thighs, digging her nails into his flesh and pulling him deeper into her.

It felt so good.

He tried it again, harder and harder. His actions grew wild, the force of his thrusts shifting the bed. Initially, he was concerned that he might have been hurting Rose, but her groans were not in protest, her touch not an opposition.

He reached up with one hand to grab the wooden headboard, using it to gain extra leverage as he allowed the brutal animal within him to escape in a rapid series of primal thrusts and lurches.

Beneath him, Rose's eyes rolled backward at the sensation. She panted roughly as he staked his claim on her body again and again. She was surprised by the roughness of his touch, the polar opposite of the gentle caresses of the previous evening, but then that was the Doctor. He was a walking contradiction: the lonely angel with a legion of followers willing to sacrifice themselves for him, the genocidal man born on a battlefield with a heart full of love. He was fun and caring, but the dangerous undercurrent seemed to constantly buzz just below the surface. For all of that though, she wasn't afraid. He wouldn't hurt her—not now as he pummelled into her with desire, not ever. She knew it deep within being.

He was her Doctor, and she was his Rose.

~ 0 ~

When the Doctor woke again, it was late in the morning. He realised he must have fallen asleep again. His memories of the previous evening sent a warmness spreading through his body. It only took a moment to discover he was alone. A note rested on Rose's pillow letting him know she'd left to go to work. He ran his hand along the empty space she had occupied, pretending for a moment that his hand was sliding along her smooth skin.

He stretched his body out languidly thinking that while he may not like the fact he wasn't able to travel all of space and time, and he might have felt useless not contributing to the household, but he could absolutely get used to the sleeping in malarkey.

He relaxed into the bedding—Rose's bed was much more comfortable than his makeshift one—and recalled their evening. He was stunned as he thought of how quickly it had gone from hopeful promise to, well, to _everything_. He was still a little uncertain where everything that had happened left the two of them as they'd very little chance to talk about the future. There had been no opportunity when he was between her thighs, feeling her body envelope him completely, nor when her wet mouth planted tiny kisses on his chest.

_The future_.

He'd once been able to use his time-sense to know what was going to happen—to see almost every possible outcome laid out in front of him like a map. He didn't use it very often—where was the fun in that—but he would have liked that sort of guide when thinking about his relationship with Rose. He wasn't sure whether it was because of the void the TARDIS had left, or whether his human mind was simply unable to cope with the constant influx of information, but he could no longer see the possibilities. He could only guess. He could extrapolate a series of outcomes based on his past experiences, but they would only be guesses. They would only be possibilities. He had no way of knowing with any degree of certainty what was going to come next for himself and Rose. The thought terrified him.

He hoped she understood that he wanted more. He wanted everything. He wondered whether moving all of the items from his room into hers would be too unsubtle.

The thoughts that ran through his mind began to stray from the tracks, worry and concern that maybe it was just about having a good time for her. Certainly he could now understand why some humans were drawn to the act of coupling, why some people even paid hard earned funds to have someone do _that_ to them, but it wasn't about that for him. He was convinced it was better between him and Rose because he felt things for her, things that made the intimacy that much more intimate. No one could have convinced him otherwise.

As he thought about their night together, images of their bodies intertwined around one another played in his head. He began to wonder how human men ever got anything done. He could have quite easily done nothing more with his day than sit and think about Rose and about the two of them together.

Only, he did still have things he needed to achieve. He'd successfully ticked off one item on the 'To Do' list—he mentally chastised himself for thinking of Rose as a 'To Do' item. Then he thought about _doing_ Rose and was once again lost in thoughts of naked bodies and tangled limbs.

He decided maybe if he left the comfort of her bed—where the images were all too easy to recall—he'd have more success thinking about anything other than Rose. Not that he minded thinking about Rose. In fact, he could have quite happily spent the rest of his life thinking about her, but that wouldn't help the 'kept man' persona that he absolutely didn't want. He couldn't really allow her to be the sole provider for their household. He briefly wondered where his utterly outdated notions of chivalry, and possibly border-line chauvinism, came from, but he put it down to the testosterone pumping around his new body.

He made his way to the bathroom—ensuring he had a towel handy—and started the shower. He'd been practising each time he'd used the shower and was slowly getting it down to an art. Turn up the hot all the way then back it off a little before turning on the cold. It worked for him yesterday, and he wasn't going to mess with a system that worked.

He scrubbed his face absently. His five o'clock shadow had quickly morphed into a long scruff. He knew he'd have to do something about it, but wasn't sure Rose would appreciate him borrowing her razor. He'd have to face the big, bad world of the supermarket before too long, but first, he needed a job.

He dried himself off and dressed quickly, spying his blue jacket and recalling his thoughts the previous night. He wondered whether it was possible he had some psychic paper in there, not that he needed it with his full compilation of identification. He was curious nonetheless.

He opened the jacket and looked into the inside pocket, his mouth broke into a wide smile as he realised that yes he did in fact have some of his fantastic paper with him. He couldn't wait to try it out.

He was distracted by a knock on the door. He tucked the paper back into the jacket pocket to keep it safe for the moment before going to investigate his visitor.

He hadn't even reached the door before he discovered the identity of the person beyond it. He would have recognised Jackie's voice anywhere.

"Tony Tyler! You come here this instant. No. Oh, for heaven's sake, sweetheart."

The Doctor opened the door cautiously. The space behind it was empty save for a bag and a bucket of toys. He poked his head around the corner, looking down the hallway.

A beleaguered looking Jackie walked toward him carrying a young boy who looked like he was trying to climb over her in a bid to escape.

"Thank goodness you're here," Jackie said as she closed the distance to Rose's apartment. "I called Rose, and she said you might be. Everything he needs is in here," she placed the bag in his hands. "And I've brought some of his favourite toys too. I'll be a few hours, tops."

"Umm…" The Doctor looked down at the rather hefty bag in his arms. He had no idea what Jackie was talking about.

"I have a Doctor's appointment, but Tony's got the flu so he's at home today. I called Rose, and she said you'd be here."

She waited for him to catch on.

"You _are_ able to watch him for me aren't you?"

"Oh!" he exclaimed as he finally realised what she meant. "Oh." He realised the implications of looking after a small child—alone. Then he realised that Jackie was willingly entrusting him with her offspring, and he felt momentarily touched.

"Yeah, sure." He nodded.

After all, how hard could it really be?

~ 0 ~

Two hours later, the Doctor had his answer.

_Very. _

It could be very hard indeed.

He'd spent the first ten minutes in relative calm.

"Are you the Doc-Tah?" Tony had asked before demanding to hear stories of Aunt Ro in the TARDITH.

The Doctor had gladly began telling some of the less scary stories, keeping in mind that the boy couldn't have been more than three or four, but then Tony had grown bored. And hungry. Then he'd decided to uproot the box of toys and distribute them all over small apartment, and there wasn't a single surface that had escaped the torment of his sticky fingers after he'd devoured the lollies that was in his bag.

Then the sugar high kicked in, and he ran around the coffee table non-stop for fifteen minutes. The Doctor grew exhausted just watching him. It wasn't that he was a bad kid, he just _never_ stopped. The Doctor imagined his own kids would probably be very similar, and then worried that he was already picturing his own kids.

Finally, the Doctor decided to kill two birds with one stone. He would see whether his psychic paper still worked while entertaining Tony at the same time. He held up the paper and asked Tony what he wanted to see. He'd ended up with an hour of near quiet as he'd shown Tony pictures on the psychic paper—dragons and dinosaurs, spaceships and trucks; he'd even shown him an Ood.

When Jackie finally came back to pick Tony up the Doctor was equal parts relieved and disappointed.

As she was leaving—having thanked him again and again—he made sure he let her know that Tony was welcome back anytime.

~ 0 ~


	8. Chapter 8: News

~ 0 ~

_~ Chapter 8: News ~_

~ 0 ~

_I own nothing. _

_This chapter has gone to the market unbeta'd because I really think you've waited long enough for the chapter, right? _

_Apologies for any & all mistakes. _

~ 0 ~

An hour after Jackie had left with Tony, the Doctor was bored out of his brain. He actually found himself wishing for company. Not necessarily the company of a whirlwind wrapped in young boy's body, but someone else to talk to. He debated going out to explore again, but there was nothing more he could do to complete his 'To Do' list other than finding a job. If he was honest with himself, he was actually avoiding that task because to complete it would mean he'd accepted that he wasn't going to travel again.

He knew people would argue that he was in denial, but he wasn't. Not really. Not completely anyway. He knew he had no TARDIS and wasn't going anywhere. He was willing, even happy, to accept some aspects of a TARDIS-free life. Like Rose. It was easy to imagine living a life day after day with Rose.

But a job?

A mortgage?

Stuck on Earth for the rest of his now-mortal life?

If he was being honest with himself, he could certainly think of worse worlds to be stuck on. After all, the Earth definitely ranked quite high on his list of favourite planets—within the top fifty certainly—and he adored humans and the way they thrived and survived. But stuck anywhere—even somewhere he liked, with a race he admired and a woman he loved—was still _stuck_.

He felt as if finding a job was tantamount to giving up. It was the final stage of acceptance that he would never again experience that feeling of a new world beneath his feet.

As he considered his unchangeable circumstances, a new sadness struck him and he had no idea how to shake it. At least, no immediate way.

Slowly a thought began to form in his mind. He had a DVD he was yet to watch; the instructional guide he'd bought from the adult shop to help woo Rose. It wasn't company, but it would take his mind off the loneliness he felt and distract him from the feeling of planetary claustrophobia that was beginning to consume him.

He grabbed the disk from his bedroom—taking a moment to look around and wonder if he'd be back sleeping in the makeshift bed that evening or whether he would continue to share Rose's—and returned to slip it into the player.

He was on a high when he pushed play, certain it was the distraction he needed. However, it only took a few minutes of the DVD for the thoughts of loneliness to be amplified in his mind. It didn't help him come up with a plan to seduce Rose, it just made him miss her more. He wanted her to be home with him, and not just so that he could try out some of the techniques. He gave up watching the disk and decided to go out for a walk after all. Rose wasn't due home for at least another couple of hours and he wasn't certain he wouldn't go crazy if he just waited for her.

~ 0 ~

The Doctor used his long legs to good advantage, stalking down the road with no specific destination in mind. He walked for blocks, and then for miles. He just kept his head down and wandered the streets aimlessly. Eventually, his legs began to ache and he knew he needed to stop for a while. As he focused again on his surroundings, he became aware of just how far he had travelled. He also noticed a little newspaper stand he hadn't expected to ever see again. He could recall the last time he'd seen it—when he'd experienced Earth anew through the eyes of Astrid Peth—but he hadn't expected to see it, or _him,_ in this universe.

His feet carried him in the direction of the newspaper stand, his eyes locked on the man inside the box. He pressed his hand into his jacket pocket, hoping he had some change left in there still. It gave him an excuse to make conversation with the one of the last people he expected to meet in the parallel world.

He approached the stand, pretending to study the magazines and newspapers in depth, but really watching the gruff looking man with the white beard. In turn, the man casually appraised the Doctor. He didn't know the significance of this meeting, didn't know in another universe he was part of a greater thread that tied the Doctor and Donna together.

"Evenin'"

The Doctor nodded politely before selecting a magazine—without any care which one it was—and placed it on the counter with the last of his notes.

"Can I help with anything else?" the white-bearded man said as he handed the Doctor his change.

"It's Wilf, isn't it?" the Doctor asked uncertainly.

"Have we met?"

"Once or twice, but it was another lifetime ago." The Doctor chuckled at his own private joke.

"Strange, I don't usually forget a face."

The Doctor wondered how similar Donna's family was in this world compared with his old universe. Was there a Donna here, just like there'd been another Mickey? Or was she non-existent, just like Rose had been? He decided to find out.

"I actually know your granddaughter."

"You're friends with Donna, then?"

"Donna, yes. Good friends." The Doctor smiled as he remembered Donna and her brilliant, wacky ways, before his smile fell as he thought of what must have happened to her in the other world. "At least, we were, but we lost contact a little while ago. What's she up to these days?"

"Why don't you ask her yerself? She'll be along in a minute."

The Doctor couldn't believe his ears. "Here? She's coming here?"

"She looks out for her ol' gramps."

A fond smile lit up the Doctor's face. "That sounds like her."

The Doctor didn't have to wait long before a little car pulled up and Donna bustled out. He watched as she climbed out with a thermos and brown package in her hand. She walked straight by him and handed the items to Wilf with an indulgent smile.

"I threw an extra bickie in there for you, gramps."

He winked. "I won't tell if you don't."

The Doctor, feeling like he was intruding on what should be a private moment, took a few steps away from the little newsstand. He was still in shock that Donna was there. He had to remind himself that she wasn't the Donna he'd known. He wasn't really _the Doctor_ and she wasn't his best friend. She wasn't the one who helped him rediscover his balance after Rose was lost through the rift. She hadn't tracked him down and helped defeat Matron Cofelia at Adipose Industries. Yet staring at her as she talked with her grandfather, it was almost too easy for the Doctor to forget that. They could have been back visiting her family between destinations. The thought left him feeling more forlorn than ever and more than just a little homesick for a small blue box that was bigger on the inside.

He sighed just as Wilf pointed in his direction. The Doctor could see the confusion in Donna's eyes as she looked at him. She said something more to Wilf and then made her way over to the Doctor.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked, her voice teetering between demanding and friendly.

He smiled and scrubbed the back of his neck, uncertain what the appropriate answer was.

'_No, but I know you, or an alternative version of you. We travelled together through time and space and you were my best friend. We saved the world together and for one blistering moment you were the most important person in the entire universe.'_

He knew that response was likely to see him carted off to the loony-bin, especially when he had no way of contacting Rose or Pete and having their clout to save him. He realised he'd been staring silently for far too long and needed to say _something_ or she was likely to think him crazy anyway.

"You used to, a lifetime ago."

"I've always been terrible with faces." Donna laughed slightly. The sound was abrasive and slightly annoying—and he hadn't realised just how much he'd missed it.

"Doctor Alonso Smith," the Doctor said, trying out his new name for the first time. He stuck out his hand and graced her with a trade-mark smile.

She took his hand cautiously. "I'm usually so good with names too, but I'm afraid I'm drawing a blank. Can't say I know any Alonso's."

"You worked at Hounslow Library right?" he asked, plucking a place he recalled the alternate Donna mentioning. He knew it could be dangerous using knowledge from the other world, he couldn't be certain just how similar her life had been—he thought about how different Pete's and Jackie's lives had been in the two universes. Once he'd started the statement, he decided to push it as far as he could. "You mastered the Dewey Decimal System in two days if I recall correctly."

Donna's chest puffed a little at his words and he breathed a sigh of relief that at least she shared that common history with _his _Donna.

"Doctor Smith, wasn't it?" Donna said thoughtfully. "You know, I think I do remember you."

The Doctor grinned. "What have you been doing since then?"

"I worked at Vitex for a while, at least until it was sold. Since then I've been back to temping."

"Vitex?" He couldn't believe his ears.

She grinned and stuck up her thumb. "Trust me on this."

He laughed. "So you know Pete Tyler then?"

Her eyes lit up. "A little, I mean I met him once or twice. Can you believe all that stuff with him and his missus giving up that girl? It was just crazy when she turned up out of the blue like that. The way she came out saying she was Jackie Tyler's sister. As if anyone would believe that! I thought she was just some scammer, especially when she changed her mind and claimed she was their daughter."

The Doctor could feel his ire rising as he listened to her talking about Rose in such a terrible manner. Donna pushed on, oblivious and excited that she had someone to gossip with.

"But then, just when everyone was convinced she was a blackmailer after their money, she just turns her back on it. Bonkers! Of course she got a job at Torchwood with 'im. I mean, hello, nepotism! But she didn't move into the mansion with them. She took off and found her own flat apparently."

He stared at Donna dumbstruck. "How do you know all of this?"

She looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "From the rags obviously. You don't get around town with that sort of money and not get noticed. Besides, that Jackie Tyler—she loves the camera."

"Bet the camera doesn't love her," he said jokingly, almost out of reflex. Then he felt bad that he was insulting Jackie to someone who was for all intents and purposes a stranger.

"You should know, you're the one buying them with her on the cover."

The Doctor looked at the magazine in his hand and indeed saw a picture of Jackie, mobile phone to her ear—no doubt shouting about something—in front of man reaching over to pick something up from the ground; a man with a familiar-looking mop of brown and newly ginger hair. He read the headline: _Trouble in Tyler Town; Jackie Tyler Spotted in Norway with Younger Man._

"Yuck!" he exclaimed as he looked at the top of his own head printed on the cover of the magazine. A shudder ran through him. "Seriously, they think Jackie and me—"

"No way!" Donna cut him off. "That's you? No, that can't be you." She stood on her tip-toes trying to get a glance at the top of his head. "That is you!"

"Well, isn't this wizard," the Doctor groaned. Then he realised he was channelling Donna again and wondered whether his proximity to her was making the part of him that was more _her_ come to the forefront of his mind.

"You know the Tylers?"

He didn't think, _'I'm living in their daughter's spare room.'_ was really an appropriate answer—after all, he still didn't really know what he and Rose were. They lived together, they'd shared one incredible night together and he knew Rose loved him, but that didn't mean they were ready to proclaim to the world they were a couple. He came up with the easiest lie he could, easy because it wasn't entirely a lie. "I travelled with Rose for a few years."

"Small world isn't it?" Donna laughed. "And now you have a thing for the cougar?"

Another violent tremor ran down his spine. "No. No. Just…no."

The truth was it wasn't _just _the thought of him and Jackie together which disturbed the Doctor; although it did, he couldn't even begin to imagine sharing with her the things he'd shared with Rose. He was equally perturbed by the thought of Jackie without Pete, or Pete without Jackie for that matter. They were literally made for one another. Both had lost their spouse, each of whom where, in the Doctor's not-so-humble opinion, the lesser incarnation of themselves—Pete's final sacrifice at the church notwithstanding.

In the Doctor's mind, the Jackie who had fought valiantly to single-handedly raise a young child and the Pete who found financial success and doted on his wife's every whim where perfect for each other. As if the two universes had always conspired to reunite the ultimate versions of two less than perfect humans.

Just like him and Rose.

The thought warmed him through to the core and he ended up with a large, goofy smile on his face.

"So not Jackie, but someone in the family?" Donna guessed. She reached for the magazine and the Doctor gave it to her readily.

The Doctor rocked on his heels, grinning like a loon, as his mind travelled to another galaxy, on a trip away with Rose.

"No way!" Donna exclaimed suddenly, dropping the magazine, which had been practically pressed against her nose. "So, when you say you travelled with Rose, you mean you _travelled_ with Rose?" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

The Doctor flushed bright red as his mind immediately provided exquisite, but unhelpful, images of his recent night with Rose.

"It's not like that." _At least not back then_, he wanted to add. "It was a long time ago, before she found her way home."

_Before I lost her._

"So _you_ and _Rose_ Tyler?"

The Doctor scrunched his nose. "Why the tone of surprise?"

Donna blinked at him. "I don't know. I just, I guess I always pictured her with some rugged athletic type, not a book worm."

"A book worm?" He honestly wasn't sure whether to be offended by her quick assessment of him, until he remembered his lie about meeting her at Hounslow Library. Then he bristled slightly because Donna's assumption implied—whether she meant it to or not—that Rose was somehow less intelligent. Or that she would value looks over smarts. He felt it was his place to defend the love of his existence. As such his tone was just a little harsher than he intended. "Besides, Rose is quite the intellectual herself."

Donna held her hands up in surrender. "I never said she wasn't. After all, Pete is some sort of quasi-genius and the apple doesn't usually fall too far from the tree."

The Doctor snorted, in his experience Pete was more lucky than clever—then again, he thought to himself, Pete had a different sort of intelligence. Pete was street-smart. He noticed things and understood more than he rightly should—a trait Rose had absolutely inherited.

Thinking about Rose bought her to the front of his mind and, coupled with the recent reminder of the time she'd almost fallen into the void, made him want to see her so badly. He realised she would probably be home already and worried that coming home to an empty house would cause her to panic.

"What's the matter, spaceman?"

Donna's familiar moniker for him snapped the Doctor from his thoughts.

"What'd you say?"

"You spaced out there for a moment. Back with me now though."

"Yeah, uh, sorry, was just thinking that I should probably be heading home." He had no idea of exactly how far away home actually was, just the vague direction he needed to point his body in to get back there. He worried that Rose might already be stressing about him and it was going to be at least another couple of hours before he'd be home.

"Do you live near here?" Donna asked, assuming that he must have walked because hers was the only car in the street.

"Umm, actually no." The Doctor ran his fingers through his hair. "I live that way." He pointed back the direction he'd come from before telling her his address.

"That's miles away. How'd you get here?"

"I walked."

"You _walked_?"

"It's not that far."

"You'll be lucky to get home before midnight if you walk home."

The Doctor grimaced but then shrugged. He knew there was little he could do. He didn't even know Rose's phone number to call her; somehow that little detail just hadn't been top of his mind with everything else that had happened in his short life.

Donna looked at him then looked in the direction he'd pointed. She sighed. "Get in the car."

"What?"

"Well, what sort of person would I be if I let you walk that far at this hour?"

"So you're just going to give me a lift? I could be an axe-murderer."

She laughed loudly. "Look at you though, you're a long streak of nothing."

"But I could be dangerous."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, all the truly dangerous people work at libraries."

The Doctor found himself grinning naturally in response to her quips. He realised again just how much he'd missed his brash partner in crime.

"I really don't want to put you out."

"Don't worry about it. It's really not that far out of my way."

He scrubbed the back of his neck before deciding it might be a chance to rekindle his friendship with Donna—or at least start a new friendship with this alternate Donna—before agreeing.

On the way to Rose's apartment Donna rattled off memory after memory of her time at Hounslow Library. Of course she assumed they were his memories too, so he had to smile and laugh in the appropriate places but that was easy for him to do because being with Donna was like slipping into a pair of converse shoes. Comfortable and comforting.

He was sad when Donna pulled the car to a stop in front of Rose's apartment building and his trip was over, but it only lasted for a moment because he was certain Rose was upstairs and he would be with her soon, so he couldn't be sad for long.

"Thank you," he turned to Donna and said. "It was great catching up with you again."

Donna couldn't know just how much truth his statement held, but she smiled brightly anyway. "It was good fun. We'll have to do it again."

His mouth curved into a grin. "Definitely."

As he opened the passenger door and climbed from the car, the front door of his building opened and Rose came rushing out. Her eyes were red and puffy and her bottom lip appeared to have an indent approximately the shape of her front teeth.

"Doctor," she breathed, as if she couldn't believe she was seeing him.

In an instant she was in his arms, he held her weight easily, relishing in the feel of her warm body against his.

"I was going out of my mind," she said. "I didn't know where you were."

He looked into her eyes, staring beyond the tears swimming on their surface and seeing into the very heart of Rose. He saw her pain; a reflection of the pain she'd felt when she'd been separated from him, the very same pain he'd felt—only more human and therefore more erratic and not so easily compartmentalised. He pulled her closer to him again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair. "I didn't think I'd be gone so long. I didn't think."

"And getting a lift home with a stranger. What were you thinking?"

He chuckled involuntarily, his mind invaded by a number of thoughts at once. He found it amusing that Rose was scolding him for accepting a twenty minute car ride, yet he'd been a stranger to her once and she'd willingly jumped on board the TARDIS with barely a second thought. He was also amused that the Donna of this universe _was_ a virtual stranger to him, a stranger he knew so well and yet knew nothing about and who just happened to think that she knew him too.

"May I ask what's so funny?" Rose asked, pulling away from him and placing her hands on her hips.

"Well, this stranger isn't really so strange."

Rose ducked her head down and took a closer look into the car. When she'd been upstairs waiting for the Doctor, waiting for news from the Torchwood employees Pete had assigned to scour CCTV footage for any sight of him, she'd been watching the road with an eagle eye. When she'd spotted his familiar face and wild hair in a car, she'd just breathed a sigh of relief and raced down the stairs to meet him—and tell him off. She hadn't stopped to see who was driving. She stood upright again quickly.

"Donna?" She asked as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

He grinned.

"How'd…Why…What?" She chuckled breathlessly.

Donna sat behind the wheel wondering at the strange exchange happening just outside her car. She wasn't listening to their conversation, but could clearly see the stress that Rose had exhibited as she ran to Alonso. Part of her wanted to just throw the car into gear and hightail it down the street to escape the strangeness, but something made her stop. Perhaps it was curiosity, perhaps it was something more.

Rose waved at Donna and signalled for her to get out of the car. Not knowing exactly why, Donna turned off the ignition and obeyed. In her mind she was able to easily and shallowly justify the decision: how often did she get the chance to meet a celebrity after all—or the daughter of a celebrity at least. But there was something else. She couldn't explain it exactly, but she felt drawn to Alonso. She wasn't interested in him—he wasn't even remotely her type, even if he wasn't already involved with someone else—but she did find him interesting. He seemed to fit into her life somehow, even if she couldn't understand why.

The Doctor was ecstatic that Rose seemed to accept Donna so readily. He didn't know why he'd doubted that she would. After all, Rose had helped the other Donna navigate out of an alternate universe.

"Donna, Rose. Rose, Donna," he said, introducing them as if Rose didn't already know Donna—because in this world she shouldn't have.

Rose beamed. "Thank you, Donna, for giving him a lift home."

"It was my pleasure," Donna said.

The Doctor was happy that there didn't appear to be any animosity between the two women. He knew there was enough room in his life—and even in his single heart—for both of them. He didn't want to be forced into a choice, even if he knew that if it came down to it, his loyalty would always be with Rose.

The three of them had a surprisingly normal conversation on the doorstep that ended with an invitation being extended to Donna to come around soon for tea.

She wound down the passenger's window of the car once she'd climbed in and started the engine before leaning across the seat.

"See you soon, Rose, Alonso."

Rose and the Doctor waved goodbye as she drove off. Then Rose burst into laughter.

"That was so surreal."

The Doctor laughed too and told her the story of how he'd come across the old man in the little magazine stand.

Once their laughter had subsided, Rose took his hand to lead him back inside.

"C'mon, it's getting late." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Allons-y, Alonso."

~ 0 ~

_A/N: *Taps mic* Is this thing on? Is anyone still there? Sorry for the delay. My brain has been frazzled with work, study, life, Christmas & everything else. I'm going to try & get another chapter of this story done as soon as possible. The good news is I have some parts of future chapters written. I haven't given up on any of my stories, my inspiration just seems to be hiding somewhere at the moment, but I'm coaxing it out as best as I can. _

_Til next time xx_


	9. Chapter 9: Fun

~ 0 ~

_~ Chapter 9 ~_

~ 0 ~

_I own nothing. _

_This chapter has gone to the market unbeta'd because I really think you've waited long enough for the chapter, right? _

_Apologies for any & all mistakes. _

~ 0 ~

Once the Doctor and Rose had climbed back up the stairs, Rose's first task was to call Pete tell him to call off the CCTV search. When Rose reluctantly handed over the phone, Pete had shouted at the Doctor a little—for someone who had once claimed she wasn't his daughter, he certainly had a protective streak a mile wide—and then suddenly changed direction. After telling the Doctor in no uncertain terms that if he ever worried Rose like that again there'd be hell to pay, Pete promptly invited them to dinner at the mansion. The Doctor felt he had no choice but to agree, he just hoped that Rose wouldn't mind his accepting for both of them.

As he finished the call, he looked around for Rose. He heard water running in the bathroom and realised she'd taken the opportunity to rinse off after her day. He decided he should probably shower himself. If nothing else, it would offer another ten minute reprieve from having to face the elephant in the room—the unasked and unanswered question of where he would be spending the night.

By the time Rose finished, he'd prepared a change of clothes and was waiting just outside the door. She gave him a small smile as he passed and shyly offered to order some take-out. He smiled back, trying to pinpoint the exact moment things had become so awkward between them. It had been so easy downstairs after they'd said goodbye to Donna. He guessed it was about the same time they'd crossed the threshold into her apartment.

For her part Rose was a giant bundle of nerves and anticipation. Coming home to an empty house had been a shock. Finding that it was still empty half hour later was almost dreadful. Every possible worst-case scenario flashed just behind her eyes as she wondered where he could be. He didn't know anyone except herself and her family—at least he hadn't until he'd found Donna—and she worried he'd come to some sort of harm. And although she hated herself for even thinking it, she was a little concerned he might have found some way back to the TARDIS. A tiny part of her, that she could barely acknowledge now that she knew how ridiculous it was, thought he might have abandoned her.

In an attempt to stop herself from pacing the living room, or worse racing into the bathroom, Rose turned on the TV. She noticed that a DVD was already in the player. She couldn't stop her curiosity from getting the better of her. She couldn't deny that it would be nice to get an insight into his mind. Besides, she reasoned with herself, if it was something the Doctor didn't want her to see, he wouldn't have left it in plain sight.

Once the Doctor finished in the shower, he returned to the living room, rubbing the towel through the ends of his hair to dry it only to find Rose standing by the doorway watching him with one eyebrow raised. He cocked his head to the side wondering why she was giving him such a peculiar look but followed her hands as she moved her body out of the doorway and gestured toward the TV.

His mouth grew instantly dry as he saw familiar scenes from the DVD he'd been watching before his epic hike freeze-framed on the screen.

"Now I know what you've been doing each day while I've been slaving away at work," Rose said with a hard edge to her voice.

The Doctor knew a fair number of expletives, he knew how to swear in countless languages and each one of them was running through his mind as he tried to think of a way to justify his viewing habits to Rose. She sounded upset by them.

"I…umm…it's….ummm…" His brain didn't seem to want to catch up with his mouth, or was it the other way around. Either way, he couldn't seem to articulate any of the excuses he was struggling to dream up.

Suddenly Rose turned back toward him and laughed. He realised she'd been pulling his leg and breathed an enormous sigh of relief. Rose fell onto the couch as the laughter fell from her lips in huge, almost ugly guffaws.

"You should'a see your face!" She gasped between cackles. "Tha' was priceless."

"That's not very nice," the Doctor said, feeling somewhat affronted. He stalked toward her.

She stopped laughing for a moment and managed to maintain a straight face for all of five seconds before falling back in hysterics again.

"You like to laugh, do you?" he said, surprising himself with the teasing tone his voice assumed.

Rose bit her lip. There was something about his demeanour that seemed almost dangerous, but in an utterly playful way. Like an overgrown puppy. The image that accompanied that thought in her mind made her chuckle under her breathe.

He placed one knee down beside her on the couch, blocking her escape. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear. "I can give you something to laugh about."

The feeling of his breath brushing over the sensitive skin just behind her ear immediately took away any comedy in the situation. She began to breathe a little heavier for entirely different reasons. Just when she was about to turn her head and take the initiative with him, his hands reached for her sides and his fingers curled suddenly around her ribcage making her body jump and twitch beneath his touch.

Rose giggled like she hadn't done in a long time as his fingers played along her ribcage and down the sides of her stomach. She shook her head from side to side begging him to stop his torment, all the while wanting it to go on forever.

In an instant, his lips were pressed tightly against hers and his fingers had gone from teasing her sides to exploring her curves. His tongue softly grazed her lips, seeking entrance which she gladly granted. Her eyes drifted closed as she gave herself in to the moment.

Just as his hand brushed across her body in just the right spot—promising so much with the lightest touch—the doorbell rang. She wanted to curse the delivery boy for his untimely interruption, but knew the quickest way to get back to what they were doing was to answer the door.

The Doctor pulled away from Rose reluctantly. His body was a hotbox of activity. As Rose raced off the grab her purse, he fell back on the couch. While he was in the shower he'd planned and plotted ways to find out where he stood and where he'd be sleeping, but all of his best intentions had gone right out of the window when Rose had been beneath him, flushed and wild with laughter. She'd just looked so damned attractive that he wasn't left with any alternative but to kiss her.

He adjusted himself in his pants, palming himself for maybe a moment too long but he just desperately needed some friction.

It felt like Rose took forever with the delivery driver and then in the kitchen. The Doctor leaned his head back and closed his eyes before 'adjusting' himself once more.

"Hungry?" she asked, sounding like she was across the other side of the room.

He shook his head. He was certain he could go days, maybe even weeks, without food if he could just go back to what they were doing moments earlier. He thrust his hips forward unthinkingly, adjusting his position because he desperately needed to move. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, trying to put himself in the mindset of dinner and conversation but all his mind offered him was, _sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. _

"Me either." Rose's voice was so much closer now, and then he felt her hands on his thighs.

His eyes shot open and he lifted his head immediately. Rose was kneeling on the floor in front of him wearing a lace nightgown. Her hair was loose around her face and she had a sly smile on her lips.

"At least not for food."

She reached for the waistband of his pyjamas and, with the help of another small adjustment of his hips, pulled them off him.

The Doctor's mind went from offering him nothing but sex to offering him nothing at all. It seemed it had even forgetting temporarily that it had to send signals for him to breathe.

Rose reached up and pushed his t-shirt up his chest and over his head. As she did, her body dragged teasingly over him. He closed his eyes momentarily before realising that it shut out the vision of Rose and what she was doing to him.

Her lips trailed wet kisses over his body, trailing down his chest and onto his stomach. Just when that exquisite torture felt like it was becoming too much, she pulled away from him. She returned to her initial position, kneeling in front of him. She hooked her hands into the waist of his shorts and pulled him free of the last of his garments.

Slowly, tentatively, she placed kisses on his thigh and then across one hip. He didn't know if her hesitation was for his benefit or his, he didn't much care though because it served to build the anticipation and he knew what might come next would be perfectly perfect.

Her lips touched the tip of his previously-thought-to-be-useless organ and his world seemed to shatter. The groan of ecstasy that ripped from his lips might have been embarrassing under any other circumstances but he couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed.

The first thing he realised—once conscious thought had returned to him—was that his dreams and fantasies about her mouth had been woefully inaccurate. So inaccurate in fact that he felt like he owed his glorious lips an apology.

The Doctor surprised himself with his stamina as Rose caressed him with her tongue, tracing circles around his glans and generally doing things with her mouth that were designed to take him to the very peak of sensation. He thought about their make-out session on the couch a couple of nights before, when he hadn't even been able to kiss her without losing it. Now, he'd gone a full minute under her careful ministrations and was still in control—barely. In fact, he was glad that the only contact they had was the little wet cavern of Rose's mouth, if her hands were stimulating other parts of his body, he might not be able to hold himself together.

Almost on cue, Rose traced her fingers up and down his thigh, moving them with the same rhythm she set with her mouth.

Up and down, slow and steady.

The Doctor shifted in his seat, sliding closer to Rose and reclining further back in the seat. Unsure what else to do with them, his hands naturally drifted toward Rose, his fingers brushing softly through her hair as she continued the perfect rhythm.

Up and down, slow and steady.

Just when the Doctor felt overwhelming pride that he'd lasted for as long as he had, Rose did something completely unexpected. She relaxed her tongue and he surged forward, his tip brushing against the back of her throat. The sensation was something so new and overwhelming, he couldn't control himself any longer.

Almost the instant his body released, Rose extracted herself from his loose hold and went into the kitchen—whether for a drink, for the sink or for something else entirely the Doctor didn't know. He thought he should get up and check on her, but found his entire body was near useless. He couldn't even lift his hand or force his air through his vocal cords in enough of a pattern to form words. All he could do was sit with a goofy grin on his face while every part of his body hung loose and flaccid.

It didn't matter though because almost as soon as she'd left the room, Rose was back. She walked over to him and then straddled his lap, being careful not to sit on certain areas which she knew were bound to be extra sensitive.

He finally managed to gain some control of his body, placing his hands on her hips and turning his face—including his goofy grin—to hers. She bent down and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her body against his.

~ 0 ~

Eventually hunger and thirst drove the Doctor and Rose apart. As he redressed, promising himself he'd do something equally as mind-blowing for Rose before the night was through, Rose went into the kitchen to reheat the take-away. Neither of them could be bothered to sit and eat, instead Rose hopped up onto the counter and the Doctor leaned on the cupboards across from her. Both of them picked at their food while discussing their days. She ran him through all of her current projects at Torchwood—she'd decided secrecy be damned, after all who would the Doctor tell and if anything he could probably offer a few hints and suggestions. In turn, he told her about Tony's visit, even admitting that he'd been glad when he found that he could still control the psychic paper. While he was discussing Tony, a question that had been burning in his mind at the time came back to him.

"Can I ask a question?" he asked as he picked out a piece of capsicum from his noodles—he'd learned he didn't much like the taste of those, just another in the long list of discoveries about his new, new body.

"You just did," Rose chuckled, before indicating that he should proceed.

"Why 'Aunt' Ro?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "The initial cover story when I arrived here was to tell everyone that I was Jackie's long-lost sister."

The Doctor sniggered, as if anyone would believe Jackie was Rose's sister.

"Shut up," she laughed. "It was what Pete wanted to do. Of course, Mum didn't want to hear of it."

When Rose spoke again, she put on a voice that was obviously supposed to be Jackie. "'No daughter of mine will be calling me Jackie'."

"Pete won the argument in the end, saying that he'd lived in this world with the tabloids and press for long enough to know what they would believe and what would make them less intrigued."

The Doctor found himself nodding along to her story—even if he was surprised that Pete had won an argument against Jackie.

"Anyway, long story short, that cover lasted all of about a month because Mum did an interview and called me her daughter. The press went crazy for a while and they had to come out and admit that I was their daughter. I tried to ignore most of what was said. I mean I looked up some of the rumours going around once," she shuddered. "Never again."

He felt instantly protective of her, wanting to find out what stories there were and put them to bed. Of course because of the time it had taken for her to find him—_the other him—_and for him to be created, years had passed since the rumours started and most people would have just accepted Rose for who she was in Pete and Jackie's lives.

"By the time the truth came out, I was already Aunt Ro."

"Why didn't you just tell him that you were just 'Rose'."

She shrugged. "We tried, but it just kinda stuck."

"You don't mind?"

She laughed quietly. "It was just never a big deal before, because…well—" She fell quiet suddenly.

"Because you didn't plan on being around?" the Doctor guessed.

She looked guilty as she nodded. "Don't get me wrong, I love my brother, I really do. But I just wanted _more_ than what was on offer here."

"I'm sorry…" he trailed off, uncertain about how he was going to finish his apology. What exactly was it he could apologise for? Being created. For existing. For tethering her to a world without a TARDIS. For the mistakes the other him had made that led her to this place.

"Don't," Rose said, somewhat sharply. When she started again, it was with a softer voice. "Don't ever apologise for what happened. I'm okay with this. I'm more than okay with _us. _True this is worlds away from what I thought might happen when I began the project, but _this..._" She placed her take-away box beside her. "_Us._" She smiled. "It's more than I ever dreamed of."

The Doctor placed his own food down on the bench and crossed the room to her. He took her face gently in his hands. "I never imagined being human could be so wonderful. But it's not the body, or the single heart, or Earth. It's you that make it so special, Rose. Only you."

He pressed his lips to hers. In that one moment, all doubts he'd had about where he would be sleeping tonight, about where they stood, about everything that was going to happen between them all evaporated.

He knew they would be alright.

He knew he would always be her Doctor—her _Alonso_—and she would always be his Rose.

~ 0 ~


	10. Chapter 10: Perfect

~ 0 ~

_~ Chapter 10: Perfect ~_

~ 0 ~

_I own nothing. _

_This chapter has gone to the market unbeta'd because I really think you've waited long enough for the chapter, right? _

_Apologies for any & all mistakes. _

~ 0 ~

Life with Rose was exactly what the Doctor expected.

It wasn't pink skies and flying manta ray.

It wasn't battling the devil on an impossible planet.

It wasn't meeting Madam De Pompadour or Charles Dickens or the Lady Cassandra.

It was work and dinners and movies and laughter.

It was kissing and touching and sharing a bed.

It was _life_.

It was real.

And it was perfect.

~ 0 ~

During the week following his epiphany—that whatever else happened he and Rose would have each other—the Doctor finally found a job. Well technically, he fell into a job, but it was exactly what he needed, exactly what he would have looked for if he'd actually looked. He'd been having dinner with Rose when she'd complained her department struggled to find someone who could understand quantum mechanics and begged him to help her out.

At first he thought it was just Rose trying to create a job in Torchwood for him—an example of nepotism at its finest—but then she'd shown him some of the workings of their latest project and he realised how right she was. Whoever had written the report struggled with even the most fundamental understanding of parallel universes. Of course that didn't mean that Rose couldn't have had someone terrible write it just so he would agree to help, but he doubted she'd be so duplicitous. Regardless, he wanted to help her.

It wasn't long until the Doctor was firmly entrenched in his position. He often pondered at the course that had led him to this universe and to humanity. If he'd been told before the Battle of Canary Wharf that in a few short years he would be mostly human—he couldn't say he was entirely human as he still had a few Time Lord quirks floating around inside—and working for the very organisation he was investigating, he probably would have sniggered. If he'd been told he would be perfectly content doing so, with no TARDIS, no sonic and no regenerations, he would have been mortified. Yet that's exactly where he was. That was where his life had led him and he wouldn't have had it any other way.

He and Rose saw Donna regularly. She seemed to slot into their life easily, quickly becoming best friend and confidant to both of them—even though they could never reveal their biggest secrets. Just as the Doctor discovered during his previous time with her, Donna was brilliant. Despite her penchant for gossip magazines, her loyal streak ran a mile wide and her intelligence and wit won over most people, at least once they became accustomed to her volume.

Despite his initial fear about being trapped in one place, the Doctor soon settled into a new routine that suited him perfectly. He found he was most efficient working in the early parts of the morning when his brain was more Time Lord, when the human part of his psyche was resting. He'd stumbled across this advantage completely by accident—the day after he was hired, he'd woken at three a.m. and scribbled down pages of notes in Gallifreyan.

The following day when he'd tried transcribing his notes and typing them into the computer, it had taken him far longer than he would have expected. At first he thought it was because he was losing his touch; that despite 900-odd years of speaking and writing Gallifreyan he was becoming too human. But even once he was able to train his mind to write his initial notes in English, he still found it difficult to transcribe them. He quickly learned it was because he got bored trying to concentrate on his previous thoughts when his mind was already four steps ahead of his notes.

Before long, after an internal struggle where he'd refused to admit it was too much for him to handle on his own, he decided he needed some help getting his notes into the Torchwood computers. Once he'd made up his mind he needed an assistant, there was only one person he wanted for the job. Unfortunately Pete didn't immediately agree with his choice. In his mind though, there was only one person he could trust with the job. Well, one person who didn't already work at Torchwood. He knew Donna would struggle with the concepts—after all, with the exception of her brief time as the Doctor Donna, her alternate self had never been a genius—but she didn't need to understand the notes, she just needed to type them. She would provide him with a no-nonsense attitude to getting thing done, just as she always had. Donna was brilliant, and there was no one else the Doctor would rather work with.

Eventually, Pete agreed to hire the Doctor an assistant, but he still refused to just give the job to Donna, which the Doctor thought was rediculous considering how he himself had been hired. Pete insisted on using in-house recruitment though and following the usual process; including advertising and psych testing. The HR team listed the job through the usual methods and the Doctor made it his responsibility to point Donna in the right direction. He mentioned it when she was over at his and Rose's place for dinner one night, but he had to admit she seemed a little reluctant.

It was a pleasant surprise then when the Doctor got the report of the potential candidates from the HR division, he saw that not only was Donna's name amongst the shortlist they'd selected, she was marked as their first choice. Of course, Donna got the job and was proud as punch that there hadn't been any favouritism involved.

With finding a job, the Doctor's initial 'To Do' list was effectively complete, so he made a new one. There was only one task on it, but it was the most important thing he could think of.

~ 0 ~

Rose and the Doctor travelled whenever they could. Of course their options were more limited without a TARDIS: they didn't travel to exotic places like Felspoon or Woman Wept. Instead, they went on trips to Scotland and Ireland; they'd seen Paris and Venice.

If Rose thought there was anything unusual about the Doctor's current itinerary, she hadn't shown her suspicions. She'd acted exactly like she before every other trip—excited to see a little more of the planet she called home.

For him though, this trip was different. It was completely unlike every previous trip for one special reason. He was finally taking her to the first place his new mouth—filled with new teeth—had promised her. The city they were travelling wasn't quite the planet he'd promised her. There weren't dogs with no noses, or at least that wasn't part of the tourist brochure.

One way or another the trip would be a defining moment in their relationship. He really wanted to take Rose somewhere special, even though he wondered whether she would understand its significance.

They had local cuisine for dinner, as they so often did when they travelled; after all both Rose and the Doctor knew all about throwing themselves into the local environment. Once they'd enjoyed their meal and finished dessert, the Doctor suggested a short stroll. He knew the beaches were beautiful and hoped they would find a nice, quiet spot to enjoy the rest of the evening.

They strolled hand in hand, lazily talking about their trip, about work, about everything and nothing, until the Doctor couldn't take the stress any more. The gift in his pocket was the second most precious thing in his world—the first was the person he intended to give it to.

The Doctor stopped walking suddenly. Rose took another few steps before realising he wasn't beside her anymore. She turned to look for him, only to find him kneeling on the sand in front of her.

"Rose, a long time ago, I offered you a blue box that would change your life. I know it's not the same thing, but tonight I want to offer you this one."

In his hand was a small box. Rose smiled when she realised what was happening. She hadn't expected it, but the Doctor had always managed to surprise her. As she stared at the small, closed box, she noticed it was almost precisely the same shade of blue of the TARDIS. It was that one small detail alone that showed just how long he had spent planning this moment.

She knelt down in front of him and tentatively reached for the small blue box.

"I'm afraid it's not bigger on the inside." He blew out a nervous chuckle.

Rose pressed open the lid, gasping when she took in the sight of the delicate silver band inlaid with an intricate pattern of sapphires and diamonds. The gems were arranged to look almost like a miniature TARDIS.

"It's beautiful," she murmured.

Relieved of the small box, the Doctor scrubbed the back of his neck anxiously.

"I had a big speech planned," he whispered, more to himself than to Rose. "But now…" He blew out a breath, trying to dispel his nerves. "Rose, I love you. I loved you before I was even created."

They both knew he was talking about the memories of the other Doctor, but neither one commented. The memories in his head were as vivid as any since he'd been 'born', and the love he felt for Rose in them wasn't borrowed or stolen. It was the same love that coursed through every part of his body.

"Barcelona," Rose murmured before a grin stretched across her lips. "That's why you wanted to come here."

He smiled at her, figuring he should know better by now, he should know not to underestimate her. She understood more than he ever really gave her credit for when he was a Time Lord. As a human—more specifically, as the human who wanted nothing more than to marry her—he would never underestimate her again.

"Yes," she said, staring at him with a mile-wide smile.

He chuckled. "Isn't it customary for me to ask the question before you answer it?"

"Since when has anything about us been customary?"

He shuffled forward on his knees before leaning into her and pressing his lips against hers. He wasn't sure how she did it but by the time they broke apart, the ring was perfectly in place on her finger. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it softly. "You don't know how happy you've made me."

Rose's smile looked as bright as his own felt. "I'm sure I can guess."

They climbed to their feet and continued their meandering walk along the beach. They both knew they would have to tell Pete and Jackie eventually, but not just then. They seemed to have an unspoken agreement to keep the news quiet, at least for a little while, so they could enjoy their own private secret.

~ 0 ~

By the time they arrived home from Barcelona, they'd decided to get married as quickly as possible. They had no reason to delay; both of them were happy with a simple ceremony, even if Jackie was left slightly aghast by the idea.

Once the word was out, pandemonium ensued. Not long after Jackie and Pete were told the news was all around Torchwood, then all around the tabloids. The Doctor wasn't used to living his life in the spotlight, but luckily Jackie was more than happy to field the calls and take the attention.

With Jackie's help, and sometimes in spite of it, the Doctor and Rose had their wish come true. Within a month of the Doctor's not-quite proposal, the backyard of Pete's mansion had been transformed into a wedding paradise and Rose had walked down the aisle in a simple white, close-fitting, princess seam dress. The Doctor might have thought the dress was simple and yet elegant if he was able to focus on anything except Rose's beautiful smile.

The day was everything they'd both hoped it would be, and it was over far too quickly. Their honeymoon was over in a blip and then they were both back at work and life continued on in the usual fashion. Day followed night and night followed day until they were, for all intents and purposes, living a normal life together.

So normal that Rose didn't even realise she'd missed her monthly visitor until it was almost three weeks late. When she'd shared her news, the Doctor had a moment of sadness thinking about the family that he'd once had and lost before the utter joy of the news became his sole focus. He picked her up and twirled her around without regard for how the scene might have looked to any outsiders.

The life the Doctor had once abhorred for himself—one lived day by day—was suddenly the only thing he wanted. He couldn't have been happier with the way things had turned out.

After Rose had gone for her twenty week scan, when they knew for certain they were having a little girl, the Doctor wanted to make a start on the nursery. He was cleaning the spare room—his once bedroom—when he found the psychic paper he hadn't used since entertaining Tony. He flipped open the folder to find a message: a location and a date. It wasn't signed, but there was only one person who would be able to send him such a message. Well, two, but he didn't think he was dealing with Professor River Song.

The Doctor hoped his life wasn't about to change as he made plans to travel back to Bad Wolf Bay.

~ 0 ~


	11. Chapter 11: Eleven

~ 0 ~

_~ Chapter 11: Eleven ~_

~ 0 ~

_I own nothing. _

_This chapter has gone to the market unbeta'd because I really think you've waited long enough for the chapter, right? _

_Apologies for any & all mistakes. _

~ 0 ~

The Doctor stood on the beach of Bad Wolf Bay at the break of dawn and waited for…well, for himself.

In the time since he'd last stood in this spot, so much had changed. He had gainful employment—albeit with Torchwood as part of Rose's special research team, a permanent roof over his head, a gold band resting on his left ring finger. He had everything he'd never dreamed of having before the stars began to go out but that he couldn't imagine living without.

_Then again_, he thought to himself as he replayed his make-out session with Rose the night before, _some things _have_ stayed the same. _

He felt a small stab of guilt that he'd convinced Rose to come to Dålig Ulv Stranden under false pretences, but he couldn't bear her being back in London when he faced his past on this beach. It was only fitting she was there. She was, and always would be, synonymous in his mind with _bad wolf_.

'_I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself. I take the words... I scatter them, in time and space. A message, to lead myself here.'_

A message that led them both there—to each other.

For the other Doctor, the one that lived in the other universe, Bad Wolf would forever signal the end of the world. For him, it would always signify the beginning.

He had purely selfish reasons for bringing her; he knew he'd need her after _he_ had left. He was under no false pretences about why he was there. The message he'd received on the psychic paper was not an invitation to return to the other universe. He wasn't sure what it meant, but he knew it wasn't _that._ He just wished he'd been able to tell her the real reason they'd returned to this place.

He felt familiar tingles begin to creep up his spine as the TARDIS crossed into the universe. Oh she was crossing into the world at a different time, of course. She would know to pass through the Multiverse at the precise moment that the walls of Pete's world were the thinnest, when the Cyberman invasion was in full-force.

He felt the chills that accompanied her presence despite the time differential. It was a tiny, almost unnoticeable change, but after her total absence for twelve months, he noticed it. Moments later, the wisps of the TARDIS began to seek out and embrace his mind. He welcomed the way she invaded deep into his conscious, sinking down into his very soul and making her presence felt. He wondered whether Rose—who had travelled in the TARDIS for a comparatively short time—could also feel the tingle begin again or whether she was oblivious to this momentous occasion.

After a moment, the noise he'd worried he'd never hear again filled the air. Only one machine could possibly make that sound. His TARDIS; well technically _his _TARDIS.

He stared at the blue door of the craft as she materialised as if he could will it open with sheer determination and willpower. In the moment after the TARDIS had landed, the Doctor wondered exactly who would step out from his old home. Of course he knew it would be the Doctor, the _other_ Doctor, but would it still be _him. _Or would it be someone else.

Would they still share the same face, the same body, the same voice? Or would _he_ have regenerated?

Both prospects seemed equally as terrifying.

Time seemed to drag for an eternity with no sign of activity from within the blue box that was bigger on the inside. It took the Doctor a moment to realise that his other self was using the viewer to see what was waiting for him. He blamed his slower thought process on his humanity.

"She's not here," he said out loud, feeling only slightly foolish for talking to himself on a beach that would be empty but for a blue wooden box. "I left her at the hotel."

The door finally opened a crack.

_What's the protocol for meeting oneself? _He wondered.

He'd done it before on occasion, when his present and future timelines had crossed with each other, but never in quite so unique a situation. He had always been meeting himself before, now he was reuniting with a distant relation—an absent father or long-lost brother. He blanched a little at the thought before bracing himself once more to meet the Doctor.

An unfamiliar hand pushed the TARDIS door the rest of the way. He knew the back of own his hand—with some effort he could remember the backs of all of his hands—and _that_ wasn't the back of any hand he recognised. That hand was almost certainly attached to an unfamiliar arm, and so on and so forth.

A bubble of relief ran though him. If Rose realised the Doctor was there, the TARDIS would be a temptation to her. He'd been afraid that the double temptation of his Time Lord doppelganger might just be too much. He felt terrible that he doubted her love and commitment, but even he had to admit he felt no small amount of temptation to run straight into the blue box that sat so close. The temptation wasn't enough to ever make him abandon Rose—he knew that in his heart of hearts—but it was undeniably there. He just couldn't stop the small voice in his mind which tried to convince him that he couldn't be certain about her feelings for him, even though he knew it was ridiculous.

_Would the Doctor would be able to lure her away from him? _

He didn't _want_ to doubt her, but he couldn't control the part of his mind—the most human part of him, the part that was more Donna than Doctor—that was stuck on repeat.

_She could leave you, just like she left Mickey. She loved him too, once_.

_She's only with you because it's what _he_ wanted. _

The Doctor tried desperately to quieten those thoughts.

_She _married_ you. She wouldn't have done that just because _he _wanted her to fix him. She loves you. _

With renewed confidence, he pushed the doubts to the back of his mind and concentrated on what was happening right in front of him.

A lanky looking fellow stepped out from behind the blue box and the Doctor's first thought was that he was right. The _other _Doctor regenerated, at least once, since he'd left Rose and the Doctor twelve months earlier—or at least twelve months ago for them, who knew how long it had been for the time-travelling alien. The Doctor found it a little terrifying that technically he'd died in the other universe. He no longer had a twin. Other than a shared past, he had nothing left in common with the current occupant of his beloved TARDIS. His second thought concerned the _other _Doctor's outfit. He was wearing a ridiculous tweed jacket, complete with leather patches on the sleeves, and a bow-tie.

_Seriously, who wears a bow-tie? _

"Well, okay then, now let's see…" he muttered as he bumbled around with the door for a moment. "Yes, okay then."

He looked at the Doctor and smiled.

"Oh look at you! You haven't changed a bit!"

The Doctor tilted his head to the side. "Maybe not, but you have."

"What?" The _other _Doctor touched his hand to his cheek. "Of course, my face. Well, you know how it is, can't keep having the same face all the time."

"So I died?" The Doctor knew it was a stupid question even as he asked it, but he was certain the other him—the who was no longer _him_—would know exactly what he meant.

"Do you really want all the gory details?"

He shook his head. No matter what happened to _him_ it didn't affect the Doctor's life. It didn't affect Rose. It didn't explain why the hell the _other_ Doctor had so rudely imposed on his life in Pete's world, or what he wanted.

"I wanted—" the other Doctor exhaled. "I wanted to know if you were settling in."

"Is that what this is? An intergalactic 'How do you do? Just popping in to say hello, and by the way did you see my bowtie?' When did you start checking up on people?"

"Don't knock the bow-tie, bow-ties are cool." His eyes flicked from the empty beach of one side of the Doctor to the empty beach on the other side of the Doctor.

"Oh, I see, you wanted to know how _she_ was going, having to be stuck here with me?" The Doctor crossed his arms tightly, his curiosity turning to frustration. "Did the other universe get too lonely for you?"

A moment passed where the other Doctor's face was an echo of the grief he himself had felt when Rose had been lost to Pete's world. He wondered whether it was Rose that the Doctor mourned now or someone else.

_Donna?_

The other Doctor knew he'd revealed much more to his former self than he'd intended with just one look. He guessed that was the peril of dealing with someone who knew the worst of his deep dark secrets. The only person in the multi-verse who had seen most of his darkest days through his own eyes—even if it was just as memories implanted into the mind of a Human-Time Lord Meta-crises. He walked up the beach a little way and sat against a rock, waiting for his once-doppelganger to follow.

"I had someone else who travelled with me. Well, someone and her husband. I'm actually married to their daughter, who served time for my murder, only she didn't actually kill me."

"So things haven't become less complicated after you ceased to be me then?"

The other Doctor let out a little laugh and his flighty hands seemed unsure where to go before settling back by his side. "No, apparently not."

"I lost them."

The Doctor heard the unspoken end to the sentence, _"I always lose them."_

The two Doctor's sat in reflective silence on the as they both felt the weight of all of the loss, the death and the decay of everything they'd loved. As the moment dragged on, the Doctor—Alonso—realised he had the superior life. Short of a massive tragedy tearing his Rose from him, he would never have to feel the ultimate sting of loss again. They would grow old together, he was certain of it. He wouldn't outlive her by hundreds of years and feel the guilt of all the things he could have done differently pressing on him.

He wanted to ask the other Doctor if there was anything he could do, but he knew he would never get an honest answer. "What are you going to do now?"

"Go back. Go on."

Again the air grew heavy with the unspoken sadness they both knew lurked just beneath the surface of the other Doctor—the real Doctor, burdened with things that would never affect Alonso again.

"I wanted to see her again."

"You didn't think I could make her happy?"

The other Doctor snorted. "I didn't think _I _would be enough to keep her happy, not after everything she'd seen."

"I'm not you," Alonso said. As the conversation progressed, he felt less and less like any part of the Doctor still lived within him. For the better part of twelve months, he'd been holding onto his implanted memories of other lives and adventures. Without realising it, he'd acquired twelve months worth of memories that although bland to view from the outside meant more to him than any adventure through time and space. Once again he found himself feeling nothing but pity for the man who had to live without love.

"No, I suppose not. Not anymore."

"Maybe not ever."

The Doctor assessed Alonso carefully. "Perhaps. Maybe you _are_ just an ordinary man."

The words may have seemed like they had a cruel intention, but Alonso was well aware of the Doctor's view on ordinary men and so he took it as a compliment.

"How is she?"

"Happy." Alonso paused for a moment. "Pregnant." He couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face as he said the word.

The Doctor smiled in response. "That's great."

Alonso watched as the Doctor's smile fell, his melancholy seeming even deeper than when he'd arrived on the beach.

"Did you want to see her?" He asked, despite a voice in his head screaming to leave Rose out of this.

The Doctor seemed cheered momentarily and hope filled his eyes, but it faded as quickly as it came. "No, I don't want to disturb her. I just wanted to know that she was happy."

"She is."

"And you?"

"More than you could possibly know."

The Doctor nodded. "I better get back, before I do any more damage."

Alonso wasn't sure whether he meant damage to the walls of reality or to himself and Rose, but it didn't matter. Either way he knew it was an excuse. He wanted to invite the Doctor into his life for a while, to experience the wonder of a normal life but he knew the Doctor wouldn't accept. He wouldn't understand—no, not wouldn't…_couldn't. _Alonso knew Time Lords, he knew how the Doctor's mind worked, he knew the Doctor didn't do domestic, not because his mind couldn't cope with it, but because his hearts couldn't deal with the fallout. If he was travelling and he lost someone, he could blame outside forces. If he lived with someone, day by day, and watched them deteriorate while he didn't change it would break his hearts.

They both stood and walked back toward the TARDIS. As the Doctor opened the door, he turned back to Alonso.

"I meant to give you this last time," he said holding out a small piece of coral. "The TARDIS wanted you to have it."

Alonso thanked him. He knew the value of the gift he'd just received, but was doubtful he'd even be alive to see the end result. He wondered at how easy it was to say goodbye to the Doctor and let him go. He'd been right about one thing. He wasn't the Doctor any more. He was less, but so much more.

He felt the exact moment the TARDIS de-materialised in this world, the vibration through his spine ceased and for one moment he felt alone. Then he remembered Rose was sleeping in a nearby hotel room and that he would never be alone again.

As he walked toward the road, he felt another tingle, a smaller one that he was certain came from the coral in his hand, the coral that would, with time, grow to a fully-fledged TARDIS of his own. A TARDIS he would likely never see fly, but which would provide himself, Rose and their unborn daughter a friend and a handy translator. He smiled to himself as he realised how much he had in this world. He just wished that the Doctor would find someone to make him happy again, although he had the feeling the Doctor's melancholy was so deep he'd likely wallow with it for some time. Alonso wished for someone who could challenge the Doctor and stand up to him, but who would above all else, love him unconditionally and help heal his broken hearts.

~ 0 ~

Alonso crawled back into bed, climbing under the sheets to find Rose. Then he wrapped his arms around her for warmth.

"We'd you go?" she asked sleepily.

"Just for a walk." He'd tell her everything later, but for now he knew she needed sleep. They both did. "How are you feeling?"

He felt her shrug against his body.

He shifted his hand, gently stroking it against Rose's swollen stomach. "And how's Oswin?"

Rose elbowed him gently and chuckled softly. "I told ya, one weird name in this family is enough."

Alonso rolled his eyes and snuggled closer to her back.

"I still vote for Clara," she mumbled before closing her eyes and drifting back off to sleep.

~ 0 ~

_**A/N:- Just a few notes about the canon in this chap. 1. I know that there is an outtake where the Doctor gave 10-two or 10.5 or Alonso ;) a piece of TARDIS coral, but I have assumed (as I think I mentioned in an AN before) that this never happened as it is not strictly canon. And 2, I'm pretty sure that last paragraph is soon to be non-canon. I'm 99% sure that this isn't who Clara is but I saw some theories online and couldn't resist LOL and isn't it fun to speculate. **_

_**I hope you've all enjoyed the Doctor's voyage of discovery and learning and can agree that he's found his one-hearted rhythm in the human world. I know this story could have been 1000x times longer, but I always wanted something short & sweet. Eleven chapters seemed about right. There may be an epilogue to come, I have a little plan for one but we'll see whether it wants to be written so for now I'm marking as complete. **_


End file.
